


Persistence: Part 8

by JaneOfCakes



Series: Persistence [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bathtub Sex, F/M, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e02 The Hounds of Baskerville, Pre-Reichenbach, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night, Wedding Rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-05 13:44:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16811794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneOfCakes/pseuds/JaneOfCakes
Summary: I'm back, Friends, and I've missed you all. I hope you are all well and excited for this Part.This is the Final Part.I know we all thought it would never come an end, but here we are. Thank you ALL for YOUR persistence. I am honored and excited beyond words to have posted this story and to have had so many people read it. Your love and comments and kudos mean the world to me. Thank you for all of your support and kindness. I can't tell you what an amazing experience this has been for me, and I intend to write and post again. I have a little 221B book of ideas and a start on another story. I'm also considering writing some one-shot, single chapter pieces because it may be a while before any longer ones are ready. Just a point of fact, I don't think anything else I write will ever be as long as Persistence. LOL. It's kind of my grand plan, my masterpiece. I'm very proud of it and yet, entirely humbled that anyone, much less all of you wanted to read it. Thank you again for that, for being my AO3 family.And now, without further ado... Chapter One





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, Friends, and I've missed you all. I hope you are all well and excited for this Part.
> 
> This is the Final Part.
> 
> I know we all thought it would never come an end, but here we are. Thank you ALL for YOUR persistence. I am honored and excited beyond words to have posted this story and to have had so many people read it. Your love and comments and kudos mean the world to me. Thank you for all of your support and kindness. I can't tell you what an amazing experience this has been for me, and I intend to write and post again. I have a little 221B book of ideas and a start on another story. I'm also considering writing some one-shot, single chapter pieces because it may be a while before any longer ones are ready. Just a point of fact, I don't think anything else I write will ever be as long as Persistence. LOL. It's kind of my grand plan, my masterpiece. I'm very proud of it and yet, entirely humbled that anyone, much less all of you wanted to read it. Thank you again for that, for being my AO3 family.
> 
> And now, without further ado... Chapter One

Sherlock Holmes stands alone looking at his own reflection in a large 19th century mirror. As he finishes straightening his tie, his eyes float upward to the dark brown curls he has arranged just so. The bruises that were once around his eye are nearly undetectable. The broken flesh of his cheekbone has become a mere pink line beneath his lower lashes, all due to a certain doctor’s careful ministrations. And a lot of kisses. So many kisses. Sherlock smiles to himself as he plucks a boutonniere of wild flowers from the dressing table and pins it to his lapel.

The heavy oak door opens behind him and he shifts to see said doctor sneaking into the room, glancing out into the hall cautiously as he enters. Sherlock turns fully and rests his hands on his hips, affecting an imposing posture. He stretches to his full height, shoulders back, looming over John as he turns to face his groom. As expected, John takes absolutely no notice and marches right up to the detective.

“Hey, babe,” John greets him with a smile. “Just thought I’d come see you. Do you have any idea how many people are out there? I thought we agreed on a small wedding.” Sherlock does not comment, a quizzical expression on his face. John tilts his head a little, still wearing a brilliant smile on his face. “What?”

“Is it not bad luck for you to see me before the wedding?”

“No, it’s bad luck if I give you a blow job before the wedding.”

Sherlock’s eyes widen and both brows raise high. Now that  _ is _ interesting. He is still unfamiliar with all the ceremony and tradition surrounding these proceedings. Before now he never had the slightest interest in any of it, but now...with John.. He cannot stop himself from being intrigued. He looks into John’s eyes and considers this particular tradition. A delicious feeling begins swirling low in his stomach and his cock twitches ever so slightly.

“It is?” he asks, completely mystified.

“No,” John laughs, shaking his head, “not at all.”

Sherlock’s expression is quickly replaced with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. He crosses his arms over his chest and pouts. John continues to look at him with a bright smile.

“It is unfair of you to take advantage of my lack of knowledge and experience on matters of social convention.”

“I know, I know. I just can’t help myself.”

Sherlock lets out a huff of exasperation and rolls his eyes, waiting for John to stop laughing. When he finally does, John takes a small step forward and lets his shoulders visibly drop after taking a deep breath, as if trying to relieve tension. He lifts his chin and smiles nervously. It’s not like John to be nervous. Suddenly Sherlock finds himself uneasy. Suppose John has changed his mind. Suppose being the husband of a mad detective who gets into life-threatening situations as easily as “normal” people make tea is not what he wants after all. Swallowing his fears and telling himself he’s being irrational, Sherlock clears his throat and looks at the floor.

“Is there something you want to tell me? Something we need to discuss?”

“Well, yeah. But, uh, not as such,” John steps a little closer still. “I wanted to show you this before the ceremony.” He produces a small velvet box from his pocket and opens it slowly. “I want you to have a chance to see it before I put it on your finger.”

John’s hands tremble with excitement and his expression is easily the most adorable Sherlock has ever seen on his face. He looks so young, so innocent, eager to see Sherlock’s reaction and hoping it is a good one. John’s brows are in his hairline and his face is bright and open. Sherlock memorizes it immediately to be cataloged later.

When Sherlock manages to tear his eyes from this man he adores to focus instead on the box said man is holding, a quiet gasp escapes his lips. The ring is dark in color, a smooth black metal molded into a stunning and uninterrupted circle. Sherlock blinks at his own eyes shining back at him in the glowing ring. He opens his mouth to speak, not even sure what he will say, but John barrels on nervously.

“It’s tungsten carbide. It had to be a strong metal like mine, so it wouldn’t be bunged up on a case, and…” the speed of his words finally slows as he raises his eyes to the detective’s face. “And I thought the dark color would contrast with your skin beautifully.”

“It will,” Sherlock replies breathlessly. “Oh, John, it’s perfect.”

“You haven’t even seen the inscription yet.”

“Inscription?” Sherlock’s eyes dart from the ring to John and back.

“Go ahead,” John moves the box a little closer to Sherlock. The tall man reaches for it, hesitating just before touching the ring. The tip of his index finger ghosts over it. He finds himself marginally afraid that all of this will disappear the moment he touches it. He glances up at John again, hesitantly. The doctor smiles warmly. “Go on, Sherlock.”

John’s soft chuckle prompts him to pinch the ring between his fingertip and thumb, and pull it delicately from the box. He turns it around in his hands, admiring its flawless design, and then notices four words engraved into its inner side. He holds it with his fingertips again and reads aloud.

“Yours, always and forever.” His silver eyes move from the words to John’s face.

“I know,” John swallows audibly and smiles, still nervous. “I know it’s redundant, but the inscription you put on mine has the word always in it too. It just felt right to have it on both. And forever…” He hesitates and meets Sherlock’s eyes. “I wanted you to know that I am committing to you not just now, for as long as we live, but even when this life ends and the next begins. Our souls will be together until time itself ends.”

“Time is infinite,” Sherlock mumbles in a deep, hushed tone.

“Precisely.” Smile Number 24: pure, honest glee spreads slowly across his lips. “Always and forever.”

Sherlock’s head tilts as he takes a long step forward and wraps his arms around the smaller man, crushing their lips together in a hard, fervent kiss. John nearly drops the ring box, his hands finding Sherlock’s hips. Sherlock cradles John’s nape as he deepens the kiss and tickles John’s lips open with his tongue. They move together languidly. Both men feel almost dizzy, sharing in the delight that this is their future. Their lives forever intertwined into one life that neither had ever imagined possible.

John inhales deeply when their lips part, feeling giddy and excited. Sherlock has a similar look on his face, his cheekbones tinted pink. He swallows quickly, a smug curl twitching on his lips.

“I am quite certain it is bad luck to kiss me before the wedding.”

John’s face lights up with a completely unabashed grin and he laughs loudly from deep in his belly. Sherlock joins him instantly and kisses the top of his head when John rests his forehead on the taller man’s chest. When he pulls back, John wears a mischievous expression, one brow cocked, and the corners of his mouth turned up. Sherlock pecks his lips and begins shooing him toward the door.

“What are you doing?” he laughs. “You aren’t even superstitious.”

“No, but Mrs. Hudson is. Now get out of here before she returns to impart more advice on how to be a good husband.”

Sherlock grimaces as he backs John to the door. John’s smile grows and he stops walking. His left hand comes to rest on the taller man’s chest, pressing against it with mild force. Sherlock pauses mid-step and studies John inquisitively.

“Mrs. Hudson’s been telling you how to be a good husband?”

“Yes.”

“To me?”

“Of course to you,” the detective sighs impatiently. “You are the man I’m about to marry.”

John huffs a laugh while Sherlock frowns and raises a brow.

“Hasn’t she done the same to you?”

“No.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes and looks away, shifting his weight. But he looks back quickly when John starts giggling. He fixes the doctor with a suspicious glare as the doctor’s laughter grows in volume.

“John,” he begins in a warning tone.

“So, what has she been telling you?”

“Drop it, John.” The detective looms over John and begins stalking toward him again. The doctor instinctively backs away, still looking his fiance straight in the eye and grinning smugly.

“Did she mention rubbing my feet after a long day at the surgery?” Sherlock continues walking and looking at John darkly. “Making tea every so often? Or maybe cleaning up the flat without being…”

His back hits the door with a thud. Sherlock swoops in and covers John’s lips with his own. One hand finds John’s hip while the fingers of the other curl around his cheek. He takes his time ravishing the doctor and then briefly sucks on his lower lip as he pulls away, leaving John gasping and his eyes hazy.

“Get out, John,” he growls deeply. “Get out before Mrs. Hudson comes in here and finds me shagging you senseless.” John’s pupils go wide with desire. Sherlock slides his fingers from John’s cheek to his nape. He kisses him softly. “We will be married in just under two hours. Free to spend every second together in whatever state of dress we wish, and free to tell everyone else to piss off. Now, go away.”

“Fine, fine, but,” John agrees in a quiet voice, “I need the ring back.”

Sherlock lifts his left hand off of John’s hip and raises it to eye level. He curls his fingers into a fist, leaving only the pinky straight, the ring nestled loosely around it. He smiles at John seductively, his voice rumbling at least an octave lower than usual.

“Or… You did mention a blow job before the wedding?”

Arousal already pooling in his belly and shifting quickly to his groin, John chuckles as he slides the ring from Sherlock’s little finger. As soon as the ring is gone, he wraps his lips around the finger and sucks it into his mouth. Sherlock lets out a sharp gasp when John releases it and then licks it from base to tip. He smiles wickedly, licking his lips, and folding the finger down with the others.

“A hint of what’s to come.”

“John Watson,” Sherlock is breathless once again, “you are a villain.”

John waggles his brows and gives his fiance a salacious grin, tucking the ring into its box and turning to the door. He stops with his hand on the knob and looks up into his detective’s silver eyes.

“Love you,” he opens the door silently and glances to either side before looking back at Sherlock. “See you soon.”

They share a quick kiss and John scampers back to his own dressing room, which is also the “Honeymoon Suite,” as it were. It is the master and largest bedroom in the medium-sized mansion of the Holmes country property. When they arrived three days ago to settle in and oversee the wedding arrangements, John simply stood gaping after climbing out of the car. 

Sherlock had referred to it as a “small country house dating back to the early 19th century”. John had expected the modest, little Dashwood home pulled right from the pages of Jane Austen, but what he found instead was very clearly  **not** small and certainly not what he had envisioned as a country home. Doorways and windows framed in carved oak, lush colors and fabrics, everything one would expect in a period mansion. And yet, it also has a modern kitchen with every convenience, as well as a flat screen telly tastefully affixed to the wall in the sitting room. And WIFI, naturally.

The house is truly a perfect blend of the present and past, and also very reflective of the detective himself. John still cannot help but wonder how much time Sherlock spent in the house before John met him. The man certainly seems as much at ease as in 221B. As the last three days have passed, John has come to believe that this is the place Sherlock imagines when he speaks of retiring one day and keeping bees.

John silently opens the door to his bedroom and slips inside. Closing it behind and believing he has gone unobserved, he turns into the room to see Mycroft Holmes standing before the rather large fireplace. He smiles at John in that sly, mildly irritated way and turns to face him fully.

“John,” sounding pleasant enough, “I trust my brother is well and full of…anticipation.”

“Mycroft,” John gives a turse nod, “can’t say I expected to find you here. No last minute troubles out there, I hope.”

“No, no. Certainly not. Mrs. Hudson has taken it upon herself to make sure everything is ready.”

“Ah, well, good,” he looks at him expectantly. “And you need…what again?”

“Of course. I thought you and I should have a chat before the proceedings.”

“Really? Suddenly you decide to be protective. Is this the “If you hurt him, I’ll kill you” talk?”

“God, no,” Mycroft answers with a quiet chuckle, “and you know as well as I that I have always been protective.” John nods once. That certainly cannot be denied. Mycroft takes a few steps toward John and tries to affect a more friendly demeanor. John is not convinced at all. “I am not here to threaten you, John, but there is a conversation that must be had.”

“Oh? One with no threats? That can’t be right. It’s not your style.”

Mycroft fixes him with a serious gaze, his mouth in a straight line while he sizes up the doctor. John is beginning to think a threat is still forthcoming when the older man leans on his ever-present umbrella and begins to speak in a calm tone, but that is not what issues from the his mouth.

“You know what happened when Sherlock thought you dead.”

“Yeah, he figured it out almost instantly.”

“But you do not know what occurred when you had apparently left him.”

“I left clues in the note. I assumed Sherlock found them and came looking.” Even as he says it so matter-of-factly, he reads the expression on Mycroft’s face and knows it isn’t the whole story. John sighs and puts his hands his trouser pockets, shifting his weight. “But he didn’t, did he?”

“I’m afraid not. He only saw the clues after your good inspector insisted the note was suspicious,” he pauses and gives him an ominous look, “and after detoxification.”

“God,” John lowers his eyes and blows out a long breath. “He didn’t.”

“He did.”

John closes his eyes now and bows his head. His face is full of pain and regret. When he opens his eyes again, he stares at his own feet sadly. His shoulders are sagging and his breaths come slowly. It feels like all the air has left his lungs and each inhalation replenishes only a fraction of what was lost. He never imagined Sherlock would use again when he disappeared. He never thought he would believe the note, especially with the clues. He knew Sherlock would see them, but perhaps in his grief, he didn’t. 

John suddenly looks much smaller in Mycroft’s eyes and he wonders for a moment if revealing this was the best idea. But John straightens suddenly and looks the elder Holmes dead in the eye, a stern expression on his face. A soldier’s countenance to be sure. 

“What is this?” John demands. “Are you telling me this so I won’t leave him? The fuck, Mycroft. I am never going to leave your brother. You’ll be stuck with me and Father Christmas every year for the rest of your life.”

“John, much as it may seem,” Mycroft sighs, “I am not attempting to blackmail you emotionally.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing?”

“I am trying to tell you what you mean to Sherlock. John, no one has ever held such a place in his life, in his heart, and none ever will again.”

“You don’t think I know that? You think he hasn’t told me that?”

“No. No, John, I don’t know what to think or what he’s told you. My brother is not known for expressing his feelings and it is vital for you to understand exactly how he feels about you. His feelings for you run deeply, John. He values you and what you bring to his life. In spite of his insults and carelessness, it has always been you,” Mycroft smiles genuinely. “You keep him right.”

“He does the same for me,” John tells him in a quiet voice, finally simmering down.

“I know you don’t value my opinion.” John opens his mouth to protest, but Mycroft cuts him off. “You don’t. And you certainly do not care what I think of your relationship with Sherlock. I spent far too much time trying to tear you apart because I thought it would weaken him. I thought you would make him more vulnerable to that which might destroy him. It wasn’t until Molly and I became closer that I finally saw you for what you are. A strength, an ally, a force. The piece of Sherlock that was always missing,” he pauses. The two men study one another in silence. “Again, I am aware my opinion means little, but…you are worthy of him. Truly. And I welcome you.”

Once again, John feels bereft of breath. He inhales deeply and shuffles to a cushioned chair, laying his hand on its high back as much to steady himself as to confirm he’s not hallucinating. Licking his lips, he can’t help a surprised smile.

“I can’t honestly believe I’m saying this, but thank you, Mycroft,” John lets out a short laugh. “You’re right, by the way. I don’t give a toss what you think, but I…appreciate it nonetheless.”

“Of course,” Mycroft answers, the corners of his mouth curling. He moves toward the door and John steps into his path. The taller man stops and looks down at him with mild surprise.

“Before you go,” John clears his throat, “there is something else we need to discuss. I will come for you if you hurt Molly.”

Mycroft smiles outright now. It is one of mutual respect and friendship.

“You needn’t concern yourself.”

“I know,” John smiles back. “And you don’t need to worry for Sherlock.”

“I know,” Mycroft straightens and walks confidently to the bedroom door, umbrella swinging in his loose grip. He turns back to John as his fingers grip the doorknob. “I believe the ceremony is set to begin in a few minutes, so I will leave you to your final preparations. I wouldn’t want to delay you.”

“Very gentlemanly of you. Oh, and Mycroft?” The man stops midway and meets John’s friendly eyes. “Thank Molly for me.”

Mycroft’s smile is immediate. He nods and exits the room, closing the door behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find myself in an unusual situation right now. I honestly can't think of anything to say about this chapter, or of the Part at large. If you know me, and I think you all do, I seldom run out of things to say. I wouldn't say I talk too much, I'm just very conversational. Yeah, that's it, conversational.
> 
> Well, I'm obviously leading up to the wedding. I spent a lot of time trying to come up with the perfect inscriptions for both rings. I had some choices for Sherlock's ring to John. A friend made a suggestion at one point too and then I stumbled upon Sherlock's very own words. "What I've meant to say always." I thought, hot damn, TV Sherlock may have never said it, but mine is going to. It was perfect.
> 
> It took longer to come up with John's ring to Sherlock. It even took a while for me to decide what kind of metal and whether or not I wanted it to have a design or to be plain and smooth. I don't know if you all agree, but the end result for both is perfect to me. Absolutely perfect. I made John explain why he picked his inscription because as soon as it came to me, I thought Sherlock will roll his eyes and say it's redundant. I love the conversation they have in the first half of the chapter. Every subject makes me laugh. I hope you all get a chuckle or two as well.
> 
> Hmm. Looks like I found something to say, as if you thought I wouldn't. Like I said, you all know me.  
> I look forward to seeing you all in the next chapter.  
> Much love, Jane


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Everyone! Welcome to Chapter 2: The Wedding.
> 
> This chapter is a delight. I was fun to write and fun to edit. These two have been through so much and it's good to see them happy. "But, Jane, all the torment is your fault. It was your own doing." I know, but what can I say? I like drama. And we all made it out together, John and Sherlock included. 
> 
> Let's sit back and relax and enjoy the wedding.

A perfect autumn evening, just at sunset. The garden is full of turning leaves and vibrant flowers. Amber Chandler, licensed celebrant, stands under the trellis with a smile on her face, ready to preside over the ceremony. She has become very well acquainted with John and Sherlock over the last few weeks. She likes to know as much as she can about the people she marries and, as a result, asked them to meet with her six times at regular intervals leading up to the wedding. John had agreed straight away, no doubt expecting such a request. Sherlock had glowered immediately, eyeing her and then John in turn.

_ “Will this be considered premarital counseling?” Sherlock had asked. _

_ “If you like,” she replied. The man curled his lips in disapproval. _

_ “I do not believe we are in need of such counseling.” _

_ “Sherlock,” John prodded quietly. His expression every bit of shut up, you git. _

_ “Then don’t think of it that way,” Amber told him, completely unfazed. The detective had cocked his brow. _

_ “I fail to see its relevance.” _

_ “Fair enough. It’s really so I can get to know you both a little before I bind you together.” _

_ Sherlock looked at John triumphantly and John had face palmed. They had obviously discussed this at length prior to the meeting. _

_ “So you can inform us we were not meant to be.” _

_ “No,” Amber laughed, “so I can tailor the ceremony to your specific relationship and personalities.” The suspicious detective narrowed his eyes and studied her intently. She just smirked, already liking this cantankerous character. “It’s not a trick, I promise. If I do say something that seems like counseling, it isn’t going to be anything you don’t already know and you don’t have to listen. You don’t have to care. Fair enough?” _

_ “Acceptable,” he said after a moment, still very skeptical. _

_ “Great. When are you both free next? Couple days? Afternoon work? And don’t worry,” she had winked at Sherlock. “The ropes don’t chafe.” _

It all proceeded from there. Amber learned a great deal about both men in that first conversation and every meeting after provided a wealth of information as well. She liked to think the two men learned more about one another too, but never expected it of any couple she married. She truly did not lie when she told Sherlock he didn’t have to care about a word she said.

Amber smiles to herself as she looks out at the small crowd of people seated before her. A diverse group to be sure. Friends from the surgery, a handful from John’s army days, and a few of the Yarders. Sally Donovan being one of the most animated, judging by the grin on her face. Sarah, Jeff, and Madeleine are all seated close by, beaming from ear to ear. Billy Wiggins and a small troupe from Sherlock’s homeless network, who blend in quite well with everyone else, are at hand too. 

Amber’s grin broadens as her eyes hover over the guests in the front rows. Each of them holds a special place in John and Sherlock’s hearts. They are the family on which these men depend, whether they admit it or not.

Bertrum Smythe, Sherlock’s tailor, a man who has known him since he first moved to London and has loved him like a son from the beginning.

Mrs. Martha Hudson, the matriarch, who essentially adopted Sherlock when he moved into 221B and who did the same with John when he joined the detective. She is secretly credited with bringing them together, leading them in the right direction with her hints and suggestions, both subtle and obvious.

Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s older brother and general pain in his ass. While Mycroft certainly takes pleasure in annoying the younger Holmes, he honestly does do it because he worries constantly. He has considered Sherlock his responsibility and not simply his brother since the day their parents died.

Molly Hooper, friend and colleague to both men, and Mycroft’s wife. How such a sweet woman came to know these men so well is still a mystery to Amber, despite the explanations she has received. Molly’s effect on each of them speaks volumes to her quiet strength.

A short laugh slips past Amber’s lips as her eyes rest on the best men. Standing before her, nervously smiling at one another, are Greg Lestrade and Mike Stamford. Each a long-time friend to one of the grooms and both overjoyed.

Mike stands to Amber’s left. Bursting with excited energy, he can’t stay still and shuffles his feet this way and that, a grin plastered across his face. Greg, on the other hand, stands stalk still to Amber’s right. His eyes are wide, but unseeing. His face is a paper-white mask of panic.

“Greg,” she whispers. He snaps immediately from his stupor, eyes focusing on her. She leans forward a skosh and motions him over with a quick snap of her chin. He takes a step closer and leans in, an uneasy look on his face. “What is it? You lose the ring?”

“What?! No!” his hand settles over his chest and gives his breast pocket a gentle pat. “I have it.”

“Then relax,” she smiles sweetly. “This is supposed to be a happy occasion. Let’s not bicker and argue about who killed who.”

A quiet laugh pops from his lips. Her smile broadens and she taps his shoulder lightly.

“There ya go. Look, it’s okay. You don’t even have to do anything.”

“Right,” Greg nods, exhaling slowly. “Right.”

Greg steps back again and relaxes his shoulders. Amber huffs a short giggle as the music changes to signal that the ceremony will start soon. Greg’s body stiffens again, brown eyes darting to Amber. She just continues smiling and shakes her head, thoroughly amused.

Jane Eaglen’s “The Dreame” drifts across the garden, elegant stringed instruments augmenting her perfectly clear soprano.

_ Or scorne, or pity on me take, _

_ I must the true relation make. _

_ I am undone tonight; _

_ Love in a subtle dreame disguised _

_ Hath both my heart and me surprised. _

From her seat in the front row, Molly smiles brightly and looks around wistfully. Her acute examiner’s eyes take in every detail of the scene. The full blooms on the trellis in radiant fall colors, the crimson rose petals scattered throughout the grass, the wade pool with blood orange flowers floating delicately on its waters. Sighing happily, she turns her head toward her husband, intending to kiss his lips lightly, but her brows furrow ever so slightly and head tilts in question when she sees his thoughtful frown. Taking her hand in his, he puts voice to his concerns before she can.

“You regret not having this. That we were married in secret.”

“I regret nothing about that day,” she smiles at him, love and honesty in her eyes, “or about you, love.”

Mycroft’s worried expression gives way to adoration and he squeezes her hand. She tips forward to press her lips briefly against his smile and then leans close, their arms touching. Their attention is drawn to the trellis again at Amber’s solemn declaration.

“Will you all please rise?”

Everyone stands and turns to face the aisle cutting through the center of the crowd. The music changes again to a recording of Sherlock playing an abbreviated version of the piece he composed for John. The perfect notes swell victoriously and drop down to near silence, telling the very soul of their story with its glory and tragedy.

After a full minute, the two grooms appear in the glass doors that lead into the house. The doors flutter open as if by magic and the men step out into the garden, arm in arm. They walk slowly down the short aisle, beaming at each of their friends as they pass. Bertie sniffs quietly and brushes a wet eye when Sherlock’s gaze meets his. Mrs. Hudson has been misty since “The Dreame” began and she smiles softly as her boys walk by.

When they reach the front, John and Sherlock take their places in between the best men and unlatch their arms. Everyone has turned and all eyes face Amber. She smiles kindly and begins speaking as the music fades away.

“Please be seated.” The crowd complies. She looks at the four men standing before her. “Not you, I’m afraid. You all have to tough it out.”

Mike chuckles, Greg just tries to breathe, and Sherlock rolls his eyes. John keeps smiling and exhales deeply, letting everything sink in.

“When I first met John and Sherlock, I had certain expectations. I mean, I read John’s blog. We all do, whether or not we choose to admit it,” she glances at Mycroft. “I like to think I had some idea of their personalities going in, and that first meeting did not prove me wrong.

Sherlock was rude and suspicious and studied me with such intensity that I felt stripped of all secrets and pretenses. Defenseless to the onslaught of deduction that was surely coming. I immediately knew that if I were to hire him for a case, I would receive nothing but the best work and a speedy conclusion.

John was stern and calm, but quick to laugh. Very polite with a temper lurking beneath. A good soldier and a good doctor. I immediately knew I would receive only the best care, far better than even my expectations, if I was his patient.

Now, we all know these two men work well together and they are clearly best friends. The proof of both is in the blog. But what would draw them together into something more? Two men who seem polar opposites. They’ll drive each other mad, I thought. Why aren’t they insane already? It must be the sex.”

The smiles and quiet chuckles in the garden give way to real laughter when Mrs. Hudson, of all people, lets out a burst of jocularity the likes of which have not been heard in the garden for years. She glances around at the other guests, a hint of pink on her cheeks, but with no other indication of embarrassment.

“They are quite noisy,” she chuckles. Everyone laughs heartily. John tucks his chin to his chest and smiles, his cheeks crimson. Sherlock bites his lip to keep from grinning in spite of himself and angles his face to catch a glimpse of his groom.

“Allow me to soundproof their flat, Mrs. Hudson,” Mycroft adds in a low mischievous tone. More laughter fills the air. The grooms catch each other’s eye and smile almost shyly.

“And then something happened,” Amber continues, reigning everyone in again. “I almost didn’t notice it. It was the smallest of movements. They were sitting together on a sofa and, while he was talking, without the slightest giveaway, John slowly angled his leg until his knee touched Sherlock’s.

I could see the warmth spiraling from that single point, filling both men with comfort. At that moment, the meeting changed. John and Sherlock both eased back and relaxed. Sherlock was still skeptical, but he was willing to talk and to listen.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. John’s always keeping the peace, making sure Sherlock behaves himself,” Sherlock lifts his chin and gives her a haughty look, “but it’s more than that. John brings Sherlock peace. And Sherlock does the same for John.

The more I met with them, the more I realized that they were both restless and incomplete before they met one another. Neither was happy. Something was missing. After every solved case, after every battle or patient, something was always missing.

And then, one touch, one look changed everything. ‘May I borrow your mobile?’ … ‘Here, use mine.’ “

Mike can’t help but puff up with pride, delighted with his role in bringing them together.

“Both minds stopped. Quiet at last,” Amber lets her mouth close slowly and waits. She lets everyone experience that quiet moment of peace before continuing in a conversational tone. “John and Sherlock have both referred to that moment as the beginning. The moment each knew he could find what he’d always been missing. And as time went on, they each began to realize there was more than friendship between them. A thousand looks while their backs were turned, lingering just a little too close for a little too long, and finally…that first kiss.”

Amber pauses. The silence is broken only by quiet sniffling. Molly rivals Mrs. Hudson for the wettest eyes, and even Sally Donovan looks a little misty.

“I wish I could say it has all been smooth sailing from that moment on, but it has not. What it has been is life, and one that John and Sherlock would never exchange. One that they are overjoyed. Ecstatic. To live together.”

Sherlock and John meet eyes, both nearly giddy. The detective reaches for his blogger’s hand and squeezes it warm with his fingers. A quiet laugh passes through John’s lips. Sherlock’s silver eyes sparkle at the sound like it is the most beautiful thing he has ever heard.

“Gentleman, please face each other and join hand.” Sherlock glances at her with a cock of his brow and she smirks. “Well, you’re already holding one.”

There are a few giggles as Sherlock faces John fully and accepts John’s hand when he reaches for him. John straightens his shoulders, grinning at his detective. A shiver runs down his spine. His whole body is tingling with anticipation. In mere minutes, Sherlock will be his husband. He will be Sherlock’s husband. He will be Dr. John Holmes Watson.

_ “Sherlock, I’ve been thinking,” John had begun the conversation. He had put a lot of thought into this particular subject and felt it was time to share it with his mate. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, honing in on his fiance. _

_ “John, I will not let you see my vows and it is not because I haven’t yet written them.” _

_ “You haven’t written your vows yet?” John’s brows rose high on his forehead. The taller man straightened his spine and looked away stubbornly. _

_ “I’m not going to write them down. I know what I want to say,” he looked at John, pursing his lips. “I have thought about it a great deal.” _

_ John blinked slowly and exhaled loudly. John Watson Number 10: The ‘What the fuck’ face. And then John Watson Number 22: “I’m frustrated, but I trust you”. _

_ “Fine. Forget it. I was actually talking about my name.” _

_ “Your name?” _

_ “Yes, I’d like to change my name once we’re married.” _

_ “To something other than John?” Sherlock had paused for less than a second and carried on in an austere voice. “No. I do not approve. I will still call you John.” _

_ “Not my first name, you git. Hamish. I want to change Hamish,” he paused and softened his tone. “I want to change it to Holmes.” _

_ Sherlock’s defiant expression melted in an instant into one of shock. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he found the words. _

_ “John Holmes Watson. You want to take my name?” _

_ “Yes, I do,” he wiped a tear from Sherlock’s cheek and looked into his shining eyes. “It’s ironic, don’t you think? That my middle name already begins with an H.” _

_ “It is. More than you know,” Sherlock cleared his throat. “I intend upon changing William to Watson.” _

_ “Watson Sherlock Holmes?” John huffed out a short laugh. Sherlock gave a long suffering sigh and looked down at John. _

_ “I will also alter its position.” _

_ “Sherlock Watson Holmes… I like it,” John laughed again and pecked Sherlock’s delicious lips playfully. _

“At this time,” Amber announces, having finished her own remarks, “our grooms would like to exchange vows before all of you, their family and friends.”

She nods to Sherlock. He smiles and looks at John, meeting his deep blue eyes. When he begins to speak, his rich baritone wavers, but quickly evens out without losing any of its sincerity.

“John, when I first met you, I thought you were like everyone else. An idiot and easy to read as a book with no cover. You moved into the flat. We worked our first case. And you did what no one has done. You surprised me. As I sat in the back of that ambulance, wrapped in that infernal orange blanket, I watched you. I met your eyes and knew at that moment that I must learn absolutely everything about this miraculous man called John Watson.

I knew I cared for you almost immediately, but did not realize just how much until you and Sarah were taken during The Blind Banker case. It quickly became clear to me that, in spite of myself, my feelings ran deeper than friendship. Much deeper. And I was terrified. I had spent my life ignoring, suppressing, denying my emotions in favor of what I thought was a higher level of existence. One devoid of sentiment and the difficulties that come with it. I tried to push it down, hide my feelings away until they faded completely. But they didn’t fade. They grew stronger.

Then that night by the pool…” the detective shakes his head and steps closer. “When I tore off that coat and the Semtex, I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to hold you in my arms and feel our bodies touch over every inch. I wanted so much to tell you everything. Every thought, every feeling, everything I suddenly knew could never be suppressed.” He shrugs. “But I couldn’t find the words. Sherlock Holmes, who knows all, sees all, who misses nothing, had not the words to express his deepest emotions.

So I hid it from you. I watched you date, sabotaged your relationships, wondered with mind-numbing curiosity when you stopped seeing women, not daring to hope it was because you felt something for me. It wasn’t until Scandal in Belgravia that I even knew what to call my feelings, and then I hadn’t the voice. She threw it in our faces again and again, challenging me. But I walked away. I could not bring myself to say the words for fear of failure, or disappointing you…losing you. Even after you confessed your feelings for me, even now, I avoid saying it in the presence of others. So, I will say it now. 

I love you. I love you. I love you.” By the third time, every muscle in his body that was tense has relaxed. His face is peaceful and a smile dances across his lips. 

“I love you more than the universe is wide - 100,000 light years side to side.” Stunned, John looks at his groom with surprised eyes. His lips part, the corners of his mouth curling. “It bulges in the middle, 16,000 light years thick. It’s 3000 light years wide by the Earth. I know it all now. The universe, our solar system. I memorized it for you, John. I’m still uncertain why this knowledge is so necessary to you, but what is important to you is of the utmost importance to me,” flashing a grin, his brows rising. “It’s you, John. It’s always been you. You keep me right.

You, John Watson, are my sun, my conductor of light, and I will orbit you for all time.”

The garden is dead silent, as if even the wildlife stopped to listen. A tear rolls down John’s cheek and drips off his chin when he smiles up at Sherlock adoringly. A breathless Sherlock watches, quietly marveling at his beautiful John, memorizing every detail of the doctor’s face in this moment.

Amber smiles at the detective and then nods the go-ahead for John. He inhales deeply and swallows hard. Sherlock can tell what he’s thinking as if he were saying it to him.  _ How can I possibly follow that?  _ The detective smiles tenderly and squeezes John’s hands. The doctor meets his eyes. _ Don’t worry. It will be perfect.  _ John smiles and wets his lips, inhaling deeply once again before he begins.

“Sherlock, you amaze me,” he grins, eyes bright. “When we met, I had no idea what to make of you. Mike tried to tell me about you on our way to Molly’s lab and you sounded… Well, I didn’t know what you sounded like and I had little hope that the flatshare would work out. And then you said Afghanistan or Iraq, and I was hooked,” John shrugs his shoulders and affects John Watson Number 202: adorable, honest, vulnerable, content.

“You see everything. You know everything about everyone in a single look and I thought, after that first case, that there was absolutely no way you didn’t see right through me. Every look, every movement, every stolen glance,” John is still grinning, but looking sheepish as well. “I tried to be…subtle about it because I knew I’d never be able to stop and I didn’t want to hear you turn me down again. I’d even look at your ass when your back was turned, for Christ sake. Whenever I could get away with it too.” Chuckles echo around the small crowd, along with tutting from a teary Mrs. Hudson. “But I could never keep my eyes off your lips. And I couldn’t even hope to hide it. I still don’t know how I got away with it. At some point, I decided you just didn’t care how I felt about you. Couldn’t begin to believe you’d feel the same way.”

John pauses and his eyes drop before he can stop them. Both men wet their lips without thinking, looking into the other’s eyes.

“Amazing,” he sighs. “In my mind, there was no way you didn’t know and no chance you had any interest. Not in an ordinary, broken army doctor like me. You also made it abundantly clear that you were married to your work.

So I dated and I denied. If I’m honest, I wasn’t annoyed that people thought we were a couple as much as I was that we weren’t. I wanted so badly to be everything to you, but knew I never would be. As the years passed, so much happened between us and I just…I gave up.” Sherlock swallows and looks into John’s eyes as he continues. “I gave up dating. I wanted you, and only you. I’d grown to love you so completely. And I thought, it’s fine. It’s fine if he doesn’t want me, as long as he’s in my life.”

John dips his chin, embarrassed once again, and then raises his eyes to gaze at the taller man.

“I didn’t know what to do after New Year’s Eve. Our first kiss. I can still feel your lips on mine. It was the first time I dared to think you might feel the same. That maybe I could be more than your best friend.”

“And then dinner,” Sherlock says quietly in his silky baritone. His doctor smiles brightly and puffs out a long breath.

“Yes, dinner. You were prodding me about spending so much time with Mycroft, like you were jealous, and…and I just said it,” his hand raises to cup the detective’s cheek lightly. “God, I love you, Sherlock. You give of yourself so fully, so completely. And not just to me. To everyone you care about, whether it’s easy or the hardest thing to do.”

John lets his hand fall and grips Sherlock’s again as soon as he feels fingers brush against his own. John bites at his lip and blinks slowly.

“It has been hard for us. But every time I’ve been so frightened and empty, you’ve brought me back. You take me in your arms and hold me tightly. You make me warm again, bring me back to life. Just like you did when we met,” John meets Sherlock’s silver eyes and swallows down a sob. Tears pricking at the corners of his own, even as he blinks to hold them back. “I was so alone and you gave me so much. Time and time again. Now, I…” his voice hitches, but he presses on. “I will spend my life giving you all I have. Everything I have in my heart, everything you deserve. I’ll hold nothing back. Not anymore. You are a good man. The best man. And I will do my best to be worthy of you.”

A tear falls from each of John’s sparkling, deep blue eyes. He suddenly feels Sherlock’s hand at his nape, bowing his head, their foreheads pressing together. John closes his eyes and more tears fall. He tries to slow his rapid breaths and steady his beating heart. Sherlock sighs and then inhales John’s scent deeply, whispering gentle words for him alone.

“You are, John. You are.”

Sherlock raises his head and kisses the shorter man’s forehead. They take a step back from one another and lock eyes. Sherlock has never seen John so vulnerable. He shivers, even as John does the same, seeing the same expression on Sherlock’s face. Their hands slip away from where they are until they find one another again, long and short fingers holding tight. A small smile sparks on Sherlock’s lips. A wide grin plays across John’s in response.

Amber clears her throat and steps closer to the couple. They both look at her warmly and then back to one another. 

“Sherlock Holmes, do you take John Watson to be your lawfully wedded husband. To give him your whole heart and keep his for the whole of your lives, and as long as your souls live beyond.”

“I do.”

“John Watson, do you take Sherlock Holmes to be your lawfully wedded husband. To give him your whole heart and keep his for the whole of your lives, and as long as your souls live beyond.”

“God, yes. I do.”

John raises a brow when Sherlock visibly shivers. The taller man does not break eye contact, nor does he acknowledge that anything unusual happened at all. John’s lips begin to curl, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes, which momentarily lose their focus. He has the oddest feeling of deja vu, as if he and Sherlock have done this before, not once but many times. The words ‘I do’ falling from his lips and a shiver running through Sherlock’s slender body.

The sound of Amber clearing her throat draws John’s attention, his eyes focusing on Sherlock once again. He wears a quizzical expression, a hint of concern in his silver eyes. John’s mouth curves upward in reassurance and comfort. It seems his message is received when Sherlock returns the smile.

“At this time, John and Sherlock have chosen to exchange rings as a symbol of their love and commitment to one another. Greg, Mike, if you please.”

Mike and Greg each step up and place a wedding ring on the small, purple notebook she holds in her hands. She nods at them in turn with a broadening smile at Greg, mouthing ‘All done’ at him. He beams back at her.

“Thank you,” Amber says to them before looking back to John and Sherlock. “Gentlemen, please take these rings.”

Both men pick up the other’s ring and then return to gazing at one another. Their bodies are tingling. John actually feels like his lips might be numb. He tips up onto his toes for a second and drops back down again. Sherlock’s brows shoot up and down, and he grins at his groom like a complete idiot, not giving a damn who sees him.

“Sherlock, if you please.”

Sherlock lifts John’s left hand and begins sliding the textured platinum ring onto his finger as he speaks, his words rising into the air like a prayer.

“When I was young, my mother used to tell me that at a very few times in life, if I was lucky, I might meet someone who is exactly right for me. Not because he is perfect, or because I am,” his eyes lift slowly to meet John’s, “but because our combined flaws are arranged in a way that allows two separate beings to hinge together. I have, for the first time, found what I can truly love. I have found you.”

The ring fits snugly onto John’s finger. His hand still rests in Sherlock’s, long fingers curling around his own smaller ones. Sherlock smiles. It is that smile, the one and only, pure and genuine smile that belongs to John. And John’s heart melts. He will care for this man until his dying day.

“John, if you please,” Amber says, looking to the misty-eyed doctor. John sniffles quietly and gently raises Sherlock’s left hand. He speaks in a hushed voice as he glides the smooth band of tungsten carbide he revealed to Sherlock only moments ago onto his long finger.

“You are sunlight falling through trees. You are laughter that breaks through my sadness. You are a cool breeze on a day that is too warm. You are clarity in the midst of my confusion. You are  **all** that is good in the world,  **my** world. If love was a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches. And we would be in the center of them all.”

Amber takes a step back and nods. The two men join hands, each noticing as the other’s ring brushes against his skin. Silver and blue meet across a short expanse and the grooms whisper together reverently.

“With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine.”

“May what has been declared here today last for all time and may no man put asunder,” Amber wears broad grin as she announces triumphantly. “John Holmes Watson, Sherlock Watson Holmes… You. Are. Married.”

Spontaneous applause fills the garden and echoes over the meadows. Amber leans in and taps Sherlock’s arm, catching the hyper-observant man’s attention immediately.

“Kiss your husband.”

Sherlock doesn’t need to be told twice. Without even blinking, he drops John’s hands and closes the distance between them, pressing his body solidly against the shorter man and enveloping him in his long arms. Sherlock’s lips cover John’s swiftly. He takes full advantage of his height, and John’s surprise, tipping his new husband’s head back and slotting his mouth to John’s. The doctor parts his lips ever so slightly and dances the tip of his own tongue along Sherlock’s mouth, reveling in the way they fit perfectly.

The garden erupts in applause again, along with catcalls and whistles led by Greg and Wiggins. It does not let up when their lips part. They look into one another’s wide eyes, warm breath against their parted lips, everyone else falls away. Breathless and a little dizzy, John senses Sherlock’s thumb delicately brushing away a tear he was unaware he had shed. The corners of his mouth curl.

“Don’t cry…husband,” Sherlock whispers and sighs, cupping John’s face in his big hands. “I have waited to call you husband for so long.”

“Wait no longer,” John grins, his hands on that slim waist, “husband.”

Grins break over both of their faces and they kiss again. Chaste and quicker this time, but with no less passion.

Amber holds up her arms to quiet everyone as she speaks loudly.

“All right, all right,” she remarks playfully. “We still have a few things to tend to, so save it for a bit, yeah?” She raises her voice to the crowd. “It is now my honor and privilege to congratulate Sherlock and John, husbands at last.”

Another cheer rises up. Mrs. Hudson and Bertie rush forward, each embracing one of the men in a bone crushing hug. They quickly swap places before Sherlock or John can escape and only let the other guests have a go when they are satisfied that all the stuffing has been squeezed from both men.

The rest of the crowd gathers around, bestowing more hugs and claps on the back. Words of congratulations and well wishes float through the air and, although John and Sherlock hear them all, they aren’t entirely focused on the people around them. Their eyes constantly come back to one another, full of excitement each time. That is, until about ten minutes have passed and John notices the strained look on Sherlock’s face. He steps through the crowd to his husband and turns to face everyone, beaming from ear to ear.

“Why don’t we all go through the trellis to the reception,” he suggests jovially. “Come on, everyone.”

“Capital idea, John!” Mike pipes up. “Come on, everyone. Let’s all take our seats and start the celebration. Cake to eat, speeches to give. Eh, Greg?”

Everyone laughs at Greg’s nervous nod as he heads for the trellis. John moves to the side and pulls Sherlock over with him. The man looks restless and brimming with anxiety. John slowly strokes his thumb over the back of Sherlock’s hand.

“How long must we wait before making them all leave?” the detective asks petulantly.

“Just calm down, babe,” John pats his hand. “It’s only a wedding reception and all these people are our friends.”

“How long do they typically last?”

“Um…four or five hours, maybe.”

Sherlock stares at John agog, his mouth opening and closing without a sound. John just grins and gives him John Watson Number 32: The ‘You really are so precious’ face.

“Five hours??” Sherlock nearly yells, incredulous and seething. “Intolerable.”

“Okay, okay,” he presses a gentle kiss to Sherlock’s lips. It’s a longer kiss than John might normally do in the presence of others, but the calming effect of his nibbles is more on his mind than embarrassment over public displays of affection.

As he peppers his new husband’s lips and cheeks with kisses, he can feel the tension melting out of the man’s muscles. A hand resting instinctively on Sherlock’s hip gives him a little squeeze. John opens his eyes as he pulls away, still feeling Sherlock’s warm breath on his mouth.

“You’ll be fine. I’ll be with you the whole time.” Sherlock frowns with those delectably full lips and John sighs. “I promise we’ll stay in for a whole week if you want. And turn away anyone who comes to visit.”

“Anyone?”

“Anyone.”

Sherlock’s hands glide up and down John’s back. His eyes momentarily drop to John’s lips, a hint of desire in their brilliant gleam, and then rise up again innocently.

“And if I want to spend the week in our bedroom?”

“Then that’s where we’ll be,” John laughs.

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

Sherlock studies him for a moment in mock suspicion and then kisses him softly. He smiles against John’s lips.

“Shall we then? It is our reception, after all.”

John returns the kiss and leads his husband under the trellis and into the applause of their friends patiently waiting on the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely. Just lovely. 
> 
> I'm going to be honest here. Amber the celebrant is basically me. Sassy and giggly, cracking jokes that maybe are a little inappropriate. And I so want to say that one line to Sherlock's face. "Don't worry. The ropes don't chafe." Heh heh heh.
> 
> I loved writing every word of John and Sherlock's vows and ring exchange vows. Omg, I get all misty reading them to myself. I do. The last thing they say together though. I got that from a friend's wedding invitation and she got it from Corpse Bride, which I have never seen so feel free to give me your reviews on it. I actually don't think I've seen and Tim Burton movies. Not even Nightmare Before Christmas, even though I know two of Jack's songs by heart. I think I'll listen to one now. :D And speaking of listening, the URL below is a link to "The Dreame". The first song for the wedding. I have loved it and it has stuck with me ever since the first time I watched "Sense and Sensibility", and while we're on that topic, let me just say that Alan Rickman is amazing. Or was. *sigh* That still makes me sad. While I'm thinking about it, Emma Thompson and Kate Winslet are amazing too. And Emma Thompson is so fricking funny!
> 
> But I digress. Listen to the song, read the chapter again if you like. Chapter 3 will be rolling out soon.  
> I love you all. Jane  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uQJpYzAMaU8


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, everyone who left comments on the last chapter. I've been kind of on hiatus. Life has been so crazy lately and a bit painful. Of course, it's also been full of Christmas cards and cookies and shopping and wrapping. Ack! I'm sure we're all in the same boat. In any case, I'll answer some tonight and the rest tomorrow (fingers crossed).
> 
> In the meantime, please join me for...  
> The Reception

Amber announces the happy couple again as soon as they pass through the trellis from one side of the garden to the other. Eventually everyone is seated and dinner is served in three courses, which comes as a surprise to John because Sherlock had assured him it would be fairly simple. How many courses are involved in a meal that isn’t simple? John gives Sherlock a sideways look and his mind boggles. The detective has a simply enormous smile on his face, and seems right in his element. John chuckles to himself. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the man was actually enjoying himself. Or…had been replaced by a pod. A grin spreads wide on his face at that thought.

When everyone has had their fill and the fine china has been collected, Greg Lestrade rises from his seat to address the crowd. As he begins to speak, the last of the champagne flutes are filled.

“Well, now…the wedding was lovely and we’ve all had a fantastic meal,” he looks around the garden at all the smiling faces. “It’s time for the speeches.”

“Hear! Hear!” Sally shouts out jovially. Everyone laughs and then laughs more at Sherlock’s cocked brow.

“When I first met Sherlock…” Greg begins.

“Oh, god.”

“It was on a case,” he ignores him. “I was just a sergeant back then, a youngster myself, but Sherlock… Sherlock was a kid. Barely 20.”

“I was 22,” the detective adds in a loud voice, clearly unamused by the error. The rest of the garden, however, is in smiles.

“Oh, forgive me for making such a glaring mistake.” Laughter rises up, as Greg rolls his eyes. Sherlock huffs and Greg winks at him, raising his hand to still the crowd. “Point is, I didn’t know where he came from or who he was - I still don’t know how he knew there’d been a murder in the park that morning - but there he was. As you can imagine, I was told to remove him, which I did. Bodily,” He listens to a few more chortles and waits for another eye roll from Sherlock. “He shouted at me all the way and, even though I tried not to listen, what he said about the crime made sense. By the time I got him to the tapes, I knew he’d solved the case.

Pretty soon, he turned up at almost all the cases I was on and I started phoning him in once I made inspector. We worked together for years and I like to think we were friends. Whether or not Sherlock would agree, I don’t know, but I know how I felt. It’s how I still feel. We saw each other through a great many things and I thought he was happy enough. Maybe not outwardly, but he always loved a good case.

It wasn’t until John came along that I saw Sherlock truly happy, and I knew it immediately. From that first day when he brought him onto the scene of what became A Study in Pink,” Greg looks at the two men almost wistfully, chuckling to himself at the memory. “I had no idea who he was. Just like the first time the smug, skinny bastard turned up. ‘He’s with me’ was all I could get out of him.

Sherlock calls John his conductor of light. There isn’t, and could never be, a more apt description. It was like everything got brighter and more vivid. Sherlock was sharper and faster. John helped him think more clearly…and kept him from getting his ass kicked in dark alleys. And he’s helped him do something new, something he hadn’t done before. He has helped Sherlock truly enjoy life for the first time since I met him. He’s helped him be happy, genuinely happy and, for that, I am ecstatic.”

Greg turns toward the two men with a nostalgic gaze and raises his glass.

“Sherlock, John, I can’t tell you how happy I am for you and for this day. I wish for you all the best and all the joy there is in the world. You both deserve it,” he finishes, flicking his glass in a toast. “Cheers.”

The word is repeated throughout the garden and champagne flutes meet the mouths of every guest in turn. John stands, pulling Sherlock up with him, and hugs his friend.

“Ta, Greg. Ta very much.”

Sherlock steps forward and embraces the DI in a far warmer hug than either he or John expected.

“Thank you, Greg. Not just for today,” he says quietly and looks at the man with sincerity. “I may not have allowed myself to notice at first, but as time went on, you were not the only one who felt we were friends.”

A surprised Greg Lestrade beams at the tall brunette and claps a hand on his shoulder before returning to his seat. Sherlock and John follow suit, as Mike Stamford stands.

“No points for originality on me. I was going to start with when I first met John too,” Mike smiles as everyone shares in pleasant laughter, which grows a bit louder and more jovial when he continues. “It was at University. That’s right, I’m still going there. We were both in medical school, obviously, and had nearly all of our classes together. After first year, we started rooming together. I loved John. He was my best friend. We were so much alike at that time. We were almost always in each other’s company. And when I say almost…” His sly eyes slide to John’s, who chuckles with sheer embarrassment.

“To say John had a way with women would be an understatement. He always had a pretty girl on his arm.” Sherlock’s spine straightens. “We had a deal between us. We were kids, you know how it is. Anytime either of us had a visitor in the room, we’d hang a sock on the doorknob. Well, I figured I’d never get to sleep in my own room! But John wasn’t what I expected,” Mike looks thoughtfully at a rose-faced John. “I only came home to a sock a couple of times in the whole of our time at school, and we roomed solid until graduation. John’s never been what anyone expects, even Sherlock. It’s part of what drew them together.

Turns out John was never playing the field the way it looked,” Mike continues with a knowing smile. “He was looking for someone even then. Someone to share his life, his dreams, his sorrows. I can only assume that’s why he joined the army. Still looking for excitement and for someone who could make his heart beat fast. And…in all modesty, I knew Sherlock Holmes was that person the moment I saw John in the park after all those years, saying he needed to find a flatshare,” he shrugs. “I didn’t really expect all this, but I’m beyond happy that it went exactly the way it did.

Mike raises his glass solemnly and everyone follows suit.

“To John and Sherlock. May you always be one another’s source of joy and the catalyst that spurs on one another’s dreams. May you always have the patience to talk things through and never be afraid to depend on each other. And, as my mother always said, let your love guide and teach you and you’ll live all your days in the brightest of places.” He turns to the crowd. “To John and Sherlock.”

“To John and Sherlock!” the crowd echoes in a sentimental tone. Mike looks back to the couple facetiously.

“I’m always going to take credit for setting you two up, just so you know.”

The garden erupts into laughter that only grows in volume when Mrs. Hudson pipes up in mock objection. John and Sherlock rise again to hug and thank Mike before he takes his seat. Once everyone has settled a bit, they move to the cake. Mrs Hudson leads the applause as they cut a piece together and put it on a plate. John picks up a chunk and grins at Sherlock, who shoots him a warning look. John lifts his free hand in placation and his brows along with it.

“Come on. I’ll be good,” he promises. Sherlock narrows his eyes and grunts noncommittally, but still opens his perfect mouth and waits. John smiles sweetly and, true to his word, delicately places the cake on Sherlock’s tongue. The saucy detective closes his lips around one of John’s fingers before he can pull them back, eliciting a chorus of catcalls and whistles from their friends. 

John’s eyes are wide and slightly dilated when he frees the finger from Sherlock’s mouth with a pop. He takes the napkin his husband offers and begins to wipe off his digits. Looking very pleased with himself, Sherlock breaks his own piece off the slice and holds it in front of John with a coy smile. The besotted doctor finishes cleaning his fingers and tosses the linen onto the table. He juts out his chin playfully and opens his mouth for the cake. Sherlock begins moving to feed John and then swings back, the cake landing in his own mouth.

“Oi!” the doctor squawks. Laughter surrounds them as Sherlock grabs John around the waist and hauls him in for an open-mouthed kiss. He pushes smushed cake into John’s mouth with his tongue and then licks at John’s teeth. Still too shocked to react, he smiles against Sherlock’s sweetened lips and rests his own hands on his husband’s shoulders in an effort to steady himself.

When Sherlock breaks from the kiss, he smears his lips and tongue across John’s cheek, covering it with the remaining icing and crumbs. He pulls back to survey his handiwork, smiling at John brightly, and laughing quietly in that deep baritone. It’s music to John’s ears. John tries to look cross, but fails miserably as his lips turn decidedly up instead of down.

“Where has this side of you been all this time, hm? What else are you hiding?”

“Oh, you’ve seen it before,” the detective smiles playfully, “but usually not in public.”

John laughs loudly and Sherlock joins him instantly, kissing him again.

After the two of them clean up and cake is passed around to all, the reception settles for a bit in friendly conversation and laughter. Until, that is, Mycroft Holmes approaches his brother and presents him with his violin and bow. John looks at him and then Sherlock in question. The detective rises without a word and takes the instrument gracefully. The garden grows quiet as its guests begin to notice one of their grooms is standing out from the head table. Sherlock turns to John, bow at the ready, and simply winks at him. Just like he did right before he slipped through the lab door on the day they met. 

John’s body begins to tingle the moment the first note sounds and he knows immediately that his detective composed it for him. For them both. And he recognizes it from the shorter version that was recorded and played during the ceremony. Every note speaks of their life together - flatmates, best friends, and lovers. The quick rhythm speaks to their exciting adventures together, just as it slows to reflect their pain, and when Sherlock holds a particularly mournful note, John feels his own heart weep with it. As the piece draws to a close, the notes spell out the most cherished love song. By the last one, no eye is dry and everyone is speechless.

Sherlock lowers his beloved violin and bow, and stands a bit awkwardly. Has he done something wrong? Suddenly, unexpectedly, the garden erupts into applause. John leaps out of his chair and is at his husband’s side in seconds, his arms thrown around him. Sherlock can feel John’s cheek wet against his own. Even with the din of clapping all around them, he hears John’s solemn words ‘thank you’ whispered into his ear. The instrument slips from his fingers as an ever-present Mycroft takes a hold of it gently and Sherlock wraps his own arms around John in a tight embrace.

“I love you,” he whispers and he feels the shiver that runs through John’s body.

The two men spend the next few minutes in a fog, to say the least. When it clears, they find themselves in the middle of the garden. The tables and chairs have been moved, creating the dance floor. As one of the songs the tall detective most loves to play for John drifts into the space, Sherlock gives his husband an affectionate smile and holds out his hands in invitation. John grins back, taking one hand and laying the other on the taller man’s shoulder. Sherlock loosely rests his at John’s waist and they begin moving together.

“Tell me, husband,” John gives Sherlock a dazzling smile, “is this new playful side of you going to make more public appearances?”

“Playful?” Sherlock replies skeptically.

“Less serious then.”

“John, I am serious about everything I do.”

“Just answer the question, you tosser,” John smirks. Sherlock’s lips curl in response.

“It may resurface on special occasions.”

“Oh. That’s certainly nice to know. And, uh…what about privately?” John asks coyly. “Will it still make appearances then?”

Sherlock smiles at him wickedly and lets two fingers brush over John’s firm, round ass.

“You know the answer to that question.”

“Mm. I look forward to that,” John purrs. Sherlock gazes at John’s bright grin with adoring eyes and a quiet, higher-pitched sound slips from his lips. John’s eyes and smile widen. “Did you just giggle? Did Sherlock ‘I’m serious about everything I do’ Holmes just giggle?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sherlock looks at him sternly. John licks his own smiling lips as he looks up at his husband fondly.

“Oh, I think you do, and it was adorable.”

“Stop,” he says flatly and glances away in embarrassment. Also adorable. He quickly meets John’s eyes again. “It’s my turn to ask a question.”

John laughs quietly. Sherlock hates being embarrassed and obviously wants to change the subject, soooo John goes along with it. Even though six feet of scarlet-cheeked, shifty-eyed consulting detective is one of the cutest things he’s ever seen in all his life.

“Are we taking turns?” he quips. Sherlock shoots him the sort of look he gives Greg when he’s said something stupid at a crime scene and John laughs again. Sherlock’s expression lightens and he leans into John, into the dance. “So, all those women.”

“Oh, god,” John mumbles in a low voice. “I knew this would come up as soon as Mike said it.” He meets Sherlock’s eyes seriously. “Please tell me you’re not angry.”

“No, of course not,” he says easily, “more curious.”

“Curious? That’s..that’s not what I expected.”

“Was…” Sherlock pauses and searches John’s eyes with his own. He continues hesitantly. “Was the sock really only there twice?”

He watches John carefully for any sign of discomfort or deception and sees neither. John’s eyes are sincere and honest. John looks back at Sherlock. He knows what he’s doing. Of course he does, but in this case, there is nothing to hide. John has no intention of hiding anything from this man anyway. Not anymore. John sighs and his eyes soften.

“It was more than that, but only for two different relationships.”

Sherlock furrows his brow in confusion. John tilts his head, also confused. 

“Why Three-continents Watson then?”

“What?” John gapes and momentarily stops dancing to stare at his husband. “Where did you hear that?!”

“Does it matter?” Sherlock shrugs. The pause in their movement only lasts a moment, which is just as well, since they are still the only two people on the dance floor with the entire crowd watching wistfully. Sherlock pulls John back into rhythm.

“Yes, it bloody well matters,” the doctor murmurs into his shoulder. Sherlock raises a brow and leads John into a short spin. John sighs. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Three-continents? I assumed a sexual partner on each one.”

“No!” John huffs a quiet laugh. “No, that’s not it at all.”

“I’m not suggesting it all happened at University,” Sherlock continues matter-of-factly. “Presumably one such occasion was in Afghanistan.”

“Sherlock, stop!” Without taking his eyes off Sherlock, John leans his face close and looks up at him intently. “It’s nothing to do with sex.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No!”

“What then?”

John exhales quietly and glances at Sherlock’s chin for a moment.

“It’s…it’s embarrassing,” his eyes raise to see Sherlock’s pointed look and he sighs. “There was this older woman, probably Mrs. Hudson’s age, and we were all 20s and early 30s in my unit. She ran a dive we frequented. She was always flirting with me - young man, captain of my unit. One night she proposed marriage.” Sherlock nearly laughs out loud, but just manages to keep it in. He cannot, however, hide the smile threatening to take over his face. John’s cheeks color to a deep shade of crimson and he continues with a little smile. “I turned her down.”

“Of course you did. Naturally. You were there with your men and all,” Sherlock stifles a giggle. John cocks a brow at his smartass husband and continues with a hint of irritation in his tone.

“I thought it was over and done with, but she went on to promise herself to only me and said I could take her up on it anytime I wanted. As soon as she was on to another customer, Blackwell pipes up and says he remembers me telling him about an elderly patient who did the same while I was in medical school, and again when we spent a month training in Egypt. ‘That’s three continents,’ he said. ‘Our captain is quite the ladies man.’ “

Sherlock finally lets go and laughs as quietly as he can. He squeezes his eyes shut as his cheeks rise up under them, the smile he can no longer contain spreading quickly. His head bows slightly and makes a shallow nodding motion. John’s brow remains cocked and he leans back to watch the taller man. He wears the look of one who is totally unamused and yet, there is a certain levity in his eyes.

“Your sensitivity is astounding.”

“Sorry, John, sorry,” he tries to stop laughing. “I thought…”

“Yeah, I know what you thought. You must think I’m a complete slag.”

“Oh,” Sherlock sobers quickly at hearing the offense in John’s tone. “I’m sorry, John, I am. But what was I meant to think? You had a different woman in the flat every week.”

“It wasn’t every week!”

“It was,” he states flatly. “For a three month period. Then it slowed and eventually ceased completely.”

John rolls his eyes in exasperation. He would throw his hands up too, but doesn’t want to break their embrace or interrupt the dancing again. He looks Sherlock in the eye, thinking how infuriatingly precise his new husband is.

“There may have been a lot of women, but I didn’t sleep with all of them.”

“You stayed all night at their homes!” he declares quietly, clearly affronted.

“You’ve not heard of snogging? Falling asleep in your date’s arms?”

“By definition, ‘sleeping with’ does constitute…”

“I didn’t have sex with all of them, Sherlock,” John whispers, leaning in for emphasis. “Only one or two, and no, Sarah was not one of them.”

“Oh, I knew that,” he replies nonchalantly. “You would never be such close friends now if you had.”

John leans in further until their faces are very close, breath tickling at one another’s lips, and enunciates his next words very carefully.

“I couldn’t, Sherlock. Not when my heart already belonged to someone else.”

Sherlock smiles sentimentally and gently presses his lips to John’s. They dance in companionable silence, drinking in one another. Before long, Sherlock recognizes the music nearing its end. Their first activity as husbands is nearly complete and their guests will soon insert themselves once more. Suddenly he finds himself asking a question he hadn’t mean to, not for a few years anyway. Especially not since the disaster that was when John brought it up in his anger and frustration.

“Have you ever thought about having children?” pops from his lips right before he clamps them shut. John blinks his eyes wide and looks truly startled. _ Idiot! Idiot!  _ Sherlock tries to resume their dance, but John’s feet are glued to the spot. The tall man swallows hard and nudges at his husband, whispering. “John.”

The shorter man blinks again and begins to move, as if snapping out of a trance. A minute later, his eyes have not left Sherlock’s and Sherlock is beginning to rue the day he learned to speak. John’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, a natural precursor to speaking. Sherlock braces himself.

“I used to think about it. Haven’t for a long time. Not since…”

“You met me,” he interrupts. John looks at him with a frown, his brows deeply furrowed. “It follows when you choose a life of danger and develop feelings for someone without a uterus. Do you regret…”

“Stop right there,” John says in a steely voice. Sherlock’s mouth clicks shut a second time. “I will never have any regrets about you. Except maybe that I didn’t say something as soon as I knew how I felt,” he pauses to let his words sink in and continues. “I was going to say since I joined the army. Dangerous lifestyle and all that, but it started to seem unlikely even before that, when I was in school. A doctor’s life is a busy one. I could see making room for a wife, but children too… “

He trails off, looking deeply into Sherlock’s eyes. John’s expression. What is it Sherlock sees there? Disappointment?

The music comes to an end, and John is reminded that he and Sherlock are not alone when the others begin clapping. The taller man releases his grasp on John and steps backwards, but John latches onto his waist and pulls him back. His voice is quiet and urgent in Sherlock’s ear.

“Let’s talk about this later,” he looks into silver eyes very seriously with his own. “Please.”

He thinks he sees a nod before being virtually yanked apart to opposite sides of the garden where guests engage each of them in conversation. By the time John escapes from a few of the Yarders and looks across the way for Sherlock, he is talking with Billy Wiggins. John takes a step forward only to be stopped by an imposing figure.

“Sir!” he sputters in surprise. Somehow he hadn’t even seen this man at any moment before this one.

“Please, John, it’s James,” he says in a deep, warm voice. “You haven’t been under my command in years.”

John smiles at him. The man is Major James Sholto and John hasn’t seen him since he was shot in Afghanistan and discharged from the army. They kept in contact for a few weeks while John was in hospital recovering from surgery. James’s last letter was given to John just before shipping out back to England, but John never answered it. He didn’t even read it, in fact, until a few months after moving in with Sherlock. He had been so depressed and couldn’t bear to see or speak to anyone, least of all his commanding officer and friend. It wasn’t until he felt he had purpose and could see a useful person again when he looked in the mirror that he took the letter from its envelope. 

“James, eh?” John smiles. “Now that’s going to take some getting used to. How have you been?”

———–

“I bring many congratulations, Mr. Holmes,” Billy Wiggins nods ceremoniously to the detective. Sherlock’s lips curl into a warm smile as he looks at his friend. 

“Thank you, Wiggins. I appreciate your trouble,” he tells him sincerely. “I wish everyone could have come. You are all welcome.”

“Believe you me, Mr. Holmes, the word was spread, but we thought a few representatives would better suit.”

“It is good to see you. It has been too long. You and Jessie are well?”

“Yes, we are,” Wiggins grins.

“Excellent,” Sherlock nods. “And Mrs. Tupper? She’s well?”

“Smashing.”

“Glad to hear it. When she fell ill, it gave me quite a turn.”

“Oh, did for us all. She’s like our mum out there,” Wiggins pauses, looking at him apprehensively. “Uh, Mr. Holmes, the thing is…Jessie and I are… We’re going to be married and wondered if…perhaps you and the good doctor…”

“We’d love to,” he smiles warmly. “Just let us know when and where.”

“Ta,” Wiggins exclaims excitedly. “We will.”

Sherlock glances away and finds his attention caught by John and Sholto. He narrows his eyes, deductions flying through his mind. Wiggins follows his razor-sharp gaze and quickly makes some deductions of his own.

“Who’s that with himself?”

“Major James Sholto, former commander.”

“Ah,” Wiggins taps the side of his own nose with an index finger. “Perhaps you should…”

“I plan to,” Sherlock turns to look at Wiggins again. “If I don’t see you again, thank you for coming and do let us know about the ceremony.”

“Will do, Mr. Holmes.”

————-

“Sounds like you’re getting along well, in spite of everything,” John remarks once Sholto has finished telling the story of his life after John left his command.

“I am, John. Becoming a recluse has its advantages,” the corners of his mouth turn up, even as his expression becomes more nostalgic. His gaze falls to John’s smile, his lips. “And its drawbacks.”

“Surely you’ve kept in touch with some of the old faces.”

“Yes,” Sholto’s eyes lift again. “Yes, of course. Some of them.”  _ But not the one I wanted. _

“Well,” John continues, beaming, “I certainly am pleased you could come for this. It’s wonderful to see you again after all this time.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, John.” His eyes dip to John’s lips again and his mind begins to wander as John speaks. Are those lips as soft as they look? What would they feel like against his own, against his skin? Sholto’s eyes nearly slide closed at the thought before they go wide, startled by his own behavior. He blinks a few times, his body straightening into a very military posture. He suddenly interrupts John, who is asking if he’s all right. “John, I meant what I said. I am glad to be here and to see you, but we will not meet again.”

“Sir?”

“Hello.” John nearly jumps at finding Sherlock unexpectedly by his side. The detective is smiling and looking from one man to the other. Sholto, roughly the same height as Sherlock, stares the man down with military precision. Sherlock meets his eyes with his own unyielding gaze and an understanding instantly passes between them.

“Oh,” John huffs and then smiles at his detective. “Sherlock, this is Major James Sholto. Sir, this is my…my husband. Sherlock Watson Holmes.”

John looks utterly pleased to have just said these words. In fact, he is beaming from ear to ear. He has never before had the opportunity to introduce Sherlock as his husband and he turns to grin at said husband.

“So nice to meet you,” Sherlock offers his hand to the man. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

“And I have read the blog,” he replies cooly. Sholto shakes Sherlock’s hand firmly and releases. He looks back at John, his expression now closed off completely. “John, I wish you all the best. Goodbye, Mr. Holmes.”

“Sir! Please...” John tries to follow when Sholto marches away hastily, but Sherlock clamps a hand on his arm to stop him.

“Let him go,” he mutters. John looks at him and then back to his former commanding officer. They watch as Sholto leaves the garden and is out of sight. John gives Sherlock a confused look. “Later. I promise.”

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson squeals in their ears and the both jump. “You owe me a dance. I may not be your mother, but I fit the bill.”

He and John look at the older woman with tender eyes and Sherlock takes her hand obediently.

“Hudders, I can deny you nothing. If you will excuse me, husband,” he flashes John a brilliant smile, which John mirrors. He watches as Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson move to the dance floor and join in with other couples. Suddenly left to his own devices, John considers finding himself a drink only to feel a tap on his shoulder.

“May I have this dance?” Molly Hooper Holmes asks as he turns to face her.

“Molly,” John breathes, breaking into a grin. “Of course. Of course!”

———–

“This is all so lovely, so lovely. I’m so happy for you, Sherlock,” Martha Hudson tells the man she has considered her son for years. She looks up at him fondly as they dance. His curls and his smile. He looks perfect and so happy. She has seen him go through so much and he always thought he would be alone. He believed that was his life, but she knew there was someone in the world for him. She knew.

Mrs. Hudson lets out a contented sigh and squeezes his shoulder gently. Her eyes drift down from his face to her own hand, and then over as much of his tuxedo as she can see. Her smile broadens and her gaze slides over to where John is dancing with Molly. She inhales deeply and sighs again.

“You both look so smart in your suits, Sherlock,” she looks back at the detective to see him looking at her with displeasure. Her expression alters to one of confusion. “Sherlock?” 

“Mrs. Hudson, it has come to my attention that you have  **not** been giving John the same advice on being a good husband.”

“Oh,” she laughs and shakes her head. Meeting his eyes with a grin and tutting. “I knew you’d find out, dear. It’s a little unfair, I know, but I just want you to be happy and you are so obtuse.”

“Obtuse?!” he stares at her indignantly. “I am **not** obtuse! I am the farthest thing from obtuse!”

“On romance, dear, romance. Sensitivity,” she smiles fondly, completely unperturbed by his outburst. “I know you love John with all your heart. I just thought I’d give you a push in the right direction when it comes to expressing it.”

“Like you helped me see how I felt about John?” he asks skeptically. The older woman smiles up at him with love and tenderness in her eyes.

“Yes, dear, and just look how that turned out.”

Sherlock continues to frown, but Mrs. Hudson just laughs.

———-

“What’s he like? In private, I mean,” John is asking Molly in a hushed voice. “I know. God, I know I shouldn’t ask, but I just can’t help it.”

“He’s completely different,” she laughs and John sneaks a look at the elder Holmes, standing soberly to the side of the garden and talking with Bertie. “He’s very kind and gentle, quick to laugh. The two of us actually have quite a lot in common.”

“The two of you... have a lot in common?” John shakes his head and laughs good naturedly. “There must be a lot I don’t know about you, Molly.” They laugh together. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I just can’t believe we’re talking about the same person.”

“Well, it turns out Sherlock only learns from the best. They really are both very good at hiding their feelings.”

“True. Very true.”

“He does enjoy needling Sherlock, but worries for him genuinely as well,” she looks at John sincerely. “When their parents died, Mycroft saw himself as Sherlock’s protector, like he couldn’t just be his brother anymore.”

“And Sherlock deeply resented it.”

“Yep. Who wouldn’t? Your brother, your friend all of a sudden telling you what to do,” Molly’s voice lowers. “He blames himself for Sherlock’s drug use. Says it was an act of defiance. I don’t know if he’ll ever forgive himself for that.”

“Well, I’m glad that chapter of their lives is over,” John pauses, “and wish it didn’t have such lasting effects.”

“Me too,” she agrees quietly, looking somewhere past John’s shoulder. He ducks his head to obstruct her line of vision and smiles when she looks at him.

“Hey. All things can be mended. They get on better now, at least.” Molly fixes him with a skeptical gaze. John nods. “Okay, okay. Fair enough. We can help them get on better.”

“I know,” she laughs shortly. “It’s like my own private mission now. I just think it’s sad, you know. My parents were taken from me too, but I didn’t have a brother to care.”

John watches her solemnly. He knew something had happened to Molly’s parents when she was at University. She had told him as much during all the time they spent at the lab together, but she never expanded upon it. He did know it was part of what motivated her to change the course of her studies and to excel to the point that she was the youngest and best medical examiner at Bart’s. A corner of his mouth curls upward.

“Now you have a colleague,” he murmurs. She blinks and smiles at him genuinely.

“Glad to know you’re on the side of the angels,” she peers at him and continues hesitantly. “If you are.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, um…” she bites her lip and glances away for a moment. “Mycroft refused to help when you were on the island. He...”

“I know, Molly, I know. And I don’t blame him. I don’t,” John tells her quickly and firmly. “Moriarty threatened you. What else could he do?”

“Something different,” is her short answer. She meets John’s eyes. “I wish he’d done something different.”

“He was protecting you and that, my friend, is worth it.”

“Is it? Is it worth your suffering?” she demands quietly. “He could have made me stop helping. Forced me to go into hiding. Sherlock didn’t want me there anyway.”

“No, Molly. Stop,” John stops dancing and takes her hands in his. He looks at her with all his focus and attention. If she never believes another word he says for the rest of his life, he must get her to believe this. “You all did your part and it may not have turned out the way it did if any one of you wasn’t there. Mycroft has forced people to do things before, like Sherlock and it has only earned him resentment. He didn’t want that for you. He loves you. As much as it kills him to have Sherlock hate him, he could never live with that from you.”

Molly sighs and looks away. John can tell his words have made an impact. He can see in her eyes that she knows he is right and he can also see that she blames not Mycroft, but herself. He lets out a long breath. 

“Molly,” he says softly. She raises her eyes to his. “It’s all in the past. Let’s leave it there and move on with our lives, and our husbands. There’s no reason for us to not be happy, **all** of us.”

“You’re a good man, John,” she tells him after a moment. She bites her lip and then smiles genuinely. Leaning in close, she kisses his cheek.

————–

Having parted ways with Mrs. Hudson fondly, letting Bertie cut in on their dance, Sherlock strolls to his brother’s side and follows his eyes to see John and Molly dancing together. They remain there, side by side in companionable silence until Sherlock remarks quietly.

“Giving away all of your secrets, is she?”

“Not all of them. Just telling him how I feel about my baby brother,” Mycroft shifts his weight. Sherlock sips from his champagne flute with a smirk on his face.

“It’s a wonder John hasn’t stomped over here to punch you in the throat.”

“Indeed,” he chortles. The two of them watch everyone in the garden and the elder sighs. “Mum and dad would have loved to see this day. They were always so worried you would be alone.” He turns his head and fixes Sherlock with his somber gaze. “They knew it would trouble you.”

“They would have wanted to see your marriage as well,” he replies. Mycroft’s brows raise. “Being alone may not have concerned you, but they knew you still wanted someone to share your life with.”

“Hm. They always knew best.”

“They knew everything,” Sherlock breathes.

“That, they did,” Mycroft tips his head toward Sherlock and returns his eyes to Molly and John. He shifts his weight again, stepping slightly away from his brother. “Sherlock, now that you have John in your life, I might…lighten my watchful eye.”

Sherlock looks at him thoughtfully, reading every implied meaning into the man’s words. Mycroft turns his head slowly to study Sherlock’s face and his features. Neither utters a word until the elder parts his lips in a wry smile.

“I am happy for you, brother mine. More than you know.” There is none of the usual bite in his tone and is even a soft look in his eye as he looks at his brother. Sherlock’s own lips curve slightly at the ends. They only break the friendly gaze when a figure approaches from the dance floor.

“Hello, love,” Molly greets her husband, reaching for Mycroft with both hands. He steps forward and grasps them with his own. They share a quick kiss before Molly turns to Sherlock. “Sorry to take him away, but I’d like a dance with my husband.”

“Of course, Molly,” Sherlock answers with a slight bow. She guides the older man onto the dance floor. The detective watches as they dance close, whispering to one another and giggling.

“Never thought I’d see that,” Greg’s voice says from behind him. Sherlock glances at Greg, now standing by his side.

“The two of them together?”

“Mycroft giggling.”

Sherlock laughs and looks down at his feet, then meets his friend’s eyes. Greg smiles back and sort of gestures with his shoulders, his hands in his pockets.

“I can’t tell you how much this means to me. All of it. You and John, being your best man. I can’t believe we’ve gone from how we met to this.”

“Yes,” the detective agrees. “Thank you for not mentioning any of the lesser known highlights.”

“Water under the bridge,” Greg shrugs, “but if you start again, I’ll kick your ass.” Sherlock exhales dismissively and waves it off. Greg’s expression lightens again. ”Yeah, I know.”

“Greg, thank you. You have had a great impact on my life. I would be very different now if not for you,” Sherlock tells him in a heartfelt tone. Greg hears the quiet sincerity in his voice and meets his eyes. His brow angles down in question. “You have done so much for me over the years and I don’t believe I have ever once thanked you.”

“We’ve done a lot for each other,” Greg smiles and tilts his head with a sentimental expression. Sherlock blows out a breath and smiles at Greg genuinely. Greg grins back.

————

“You know, John, I’m glad you didn’t listen when I warned you off Holmes. I’m glad I was wrong about him,” Sally Donovan pauses to admire John’s stunning smile. “The two of you really are a pair of star-crossed lovers. You’ve made each other better. And a hell of a lot happier.”

“And you, Sally, are a romantic,” John laughs merrily as they dance. “Never would’ve guessed.”

“We all have our weaknesses,” she shrugs. John nods slowly, studying her thoughtfully.

“Yeah, we do, and yours has a French name and a pair of beautiful brown eyes attached to it.”

“John, don’t,” she whispers urgently, glancing at the couples around them. No one appears to take any notice of their conversation.

“No worries. I won’t say a word.”

“Look,” she leans her head towards John’s and lowers her voice further, “he’s my superior. Nothing can happen between us. I would never put him in a position of reprimand.”

“What about when you’re promoted again?”

“By then, he’ll have been promoted too. He’s an excellent cop.”

“Ah, yeah. Can’t argue with that,” John mutters. They are quiet for a bit as they dance, listening to the music and laughter around them. John’s brow furrows at Sally’s troubled expression and he wishes there was something he could do to help. She meets his eyes again and knows what he’s thinking.

“If I transfer to another division or department, it’ll just look shady. And I’ll never see him. I love working with him,” she tells him. John’s mouth tightens into a thin line. “I just need to forget it, John.”

He opens his mouth to respond, although he isn’t sure what he’s going to say. What would even make Sally feel better? They aren’t exactly friends. Is there anything he can say? John would like to try, but never gets the chance when a silky baritone speaks instead of his own voice.

“Sally, would you mind if I cut in?”

“Please do,” she smiles broadly, stepping away from John and gesturing. The corner of Sherlock’s mouth curls up as he watches her. She swallows and nods. “Congratulations, Holmes.”

“Thank you,” he replies kindly. She glances back at John and makes a hasty exit. Sherlock steps in close to his husband and slides his hand around his waist, his other taking John’s hand. John looks up at the man in his arms and they begin dancing slowly.

“Are you always going to lead?”

“I asked you. I think that entitles me to lead,” Sherlock shrugs. “Besides, I’m a better dancer.”

John huffs a laugh and licks his upper lip, hesitating momentarily, letting his tongue rest on his lip. He looks up at Sherlock, whose eyes are locked on his mouth. He licks his lower lip very slowly before he speaks.

“I won’t argue that point, but just because it’s our wedding day.”

Sherlock doesn’t respond, but swoops in close instead, his lips next to John’s ear, his breath swishing through John’s hair and tickling his skin.

“When can we tell these people to leave? I want to be alone with you.”

“For god sake, Sherlock, pull yourself together,” he squirms away enough to look his detective in the eye, a mischievous smile on his own lips. “You look like you want to push me up against a wall and...”

“Perhaps I do,” he interrupts. Sherlock’s eyes are searing and he emits a low growl filled with desire that only John can hear. Somewhat startled, but amused, John looks at him in disbelief.

“Are you always like this at weddings?” he whispers with a small smile and glances around the garden. He leans in close. “What is wrong with you?”

Sherlock regroups after that question. He takes a moment to rapidly deduce his new husband and is more than a little relieved to find that John is less startled and mostly amused by his behavior. Sherlock straightens his posture so they are at a more acceptable distance for dancing and starts pouting.

“I don’t see why it all has to take so long. We just got married. These people should know we want to be together. When can we be alone?”

“Soon, babe, soon. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“I find that very hard to believe,” Sherlock scowls. John just laughs and rests his forehead on his husband’s shoulder.

***

Roughly three hours later, John and Sherlock have bid farewell to the last few stragglers. The caterers have cleaned up and stored the leftover food. Dishes have been collected and stowed in the catering truck. Tables and decorations will be picked up in the morning without any need to disturb the happy couple.

They are free. Free to be together in peace and quiet.

John walks through the trellis into the reception side of the garden to see Sherlock standing next to a table with his eyes closed. He watches for a moment, a blissful smile on his face. Sherlock Holmes is his husband. His. Husband. He is wearing John’s ring so everyone will know and he will never take it off. John looks down at his own ring and shivers. It looks…perfect. Like it was made for his finger alone to be given to him by one man, the man standing just a few feet away.

John looks Sherlock’s way again to see his eyes staring back. He starts like he has been caught at something and tries to appear nonchalant. Sherlock smirks, but becomes very serious seconds later as he takes a step toward John.

“Are they gone?”

“They are,” John smiles brightly. “Every last one.”

Sherlock takes another short step and grins. He looks charming and friendly, like a man in love. And gorgeous. Fucking gorgeous. His curls rustle in the breeze and the soft glow of the twinkle lights overhead shine in his silver eyes. And that smile…John finds himself grinning back like a fool.

“John Holmes Watson, husband,” a corner of his mouth turns up, “would you accompany me into the house?”

“I would love to.”

Sherlock strides to his mate, tousles his own hair roughly with both hands, and then puts them on either side of John’s face. He stares down at John, with half-lidded eyes and tilts his head just before slotting their mouths together in a burning kiss. John’s hands float up to grasp lightly at the man’s waist. Sherlock’s plush lips feel incredible against John’s and the doctor melts where they stand.

All too soon, Sherlock pulls away and John’s lips are cool with the absence of his touch. His eyes flutter open and meet Sherlock’s. The detective’s long fingers gently glide through John’s soft hair.

“What on earth was that for?” John gasps, completely breathless.

“Dramatic flare. It is required before we enter the house.”

“What?” John laughs. “What on earth does that mean? Why do we need…”

Sherlock suddenly stoops over and tucks his arm under John’s knees, lifting him off his feet and walking through the trellis.

“Sherlock! What the  **hell** are you doing?!”

The taller man pauses under the flowers, their sweet scent filling the air around them. He smirks and presses a quick kiss to John’s frowning lips.

“I’m carrying you across the threshold…husband,” he grins and starts walking again. “It makes more sense for me to do it. I’m taller.”

“What?! That’s ridiculous. Put me down,” John insists. He narrows his eyes. “You’re taking a lot of liberties with your height, you know. I could carry you just as easily.”

“Mm-hm. I’m sure you could, Captain.”

“Oh, don’t even start.”

Sherlock laughs loudly in a deep baritone rumble all the way into the house with John in his arms, not resisting, but certainly grumbling at every step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is, friends, and isn't it lovely? This chapter tickles me in so many different ways. It's a chance to let my sense of humor show through, as well as my sentimentality. I love the speeches - their jokes and fondness. I love the many conversations afterwards while people are dancing - Hudders and Sherlock, John and Molly, all of them. But I absolutely LOVE the conversations between John and Sherlock. Love them. Each one shows the depth of their friendship and love. They can laugh and cry together. They can feel together.
> 
> The image of Sherlock dancing with John, his eyes closed and his head bobbing slightly with laughter while John reveals the meaning behind "Three-continents Watson" KILLS ME. I'm laughing right now. Bahahahaha!
> 
> Well, friends, only one chapter left and this great journey will come to an end. I have loved every minute of it and am so grateful to you all for coming along with me. Please join me again for this last chapter. Just for your piece of mind, I plan to post it before Christmas.
> 
> See you all again soon.  
> Much love, Jane


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Friends. I wanted to post this before Christmas, but the day after isn't bad. This is bittersweet for me. It is the culmination of 3 years work for me and I'm proud of what I have achieved, not to mention super excited for you all to read it. However, it feels like the end of an era to me. I won't have anything new to post for a bit, though my next story is coming along quite nicely and I have another in the works. No names for either yet, or I might tease you. I guess the biggest thing for me is the thought of losing the little community I have come to love here on AO3. Regular communications with some of you have become a real joy to me. Hopefully, I'll have time to read more by all of you and comment now that my "Grand Masterpiece" is finally finished. Anyway, I'd like to not lose touch. :D
> 
> And now, without further ado... Post-Reception: The honeymoon begins...

Leaning back against the tub wall in a scalding hot bath, John closes his eyes and lets the warmth seep into his tired body. On top of the wedding and reception, his new husband saw fit to tear off his suit and shag his brains out on the kitchen table as soon as everyone was gone and they were in the house alone. If John wasn’t exhausted before, he certainly is now.

He sighs and cracks an eye open when he hears bare feet pad into the room. A very naked Sherlock Holmes stands before him smirking. John’s lips turn up at the corners and Sherlock gestures at the water.

“May I join you?”

“ ‘Course.”

The tall man steps into the over-sized tub and all but swims to John’s side where he inserts himself onto John’s lap and drapes long arms around his shoulders. John, eyes closed again, shakes his head slowly and makes the face of someone very put out.

“Such presumption.”

“Ohhh,” Sherlock soothes quietly, kissing the pulse-point on his neck with parted lips, “are you tired?”

John’s false-frown turns into a soft chuckle when a skillful tongue flicks over his neck. He opens his eyes to see Sherlock’s grinning, bloody gorgeous face looking back.

“I did just get married and my unbelievably sexy husband did just shag me into next week. I have every reason to be tired.” 

“Mm…but you’re a young man, John,” Sherlock coos. John huffs a laugh, which the detective ignores. “Surely you are equipped for all this activity. Well equipped, by my observation.”

“I’m 44 years old!”

“And I am 41, and can’t wait to be with you again.”

“Jesus, Sherlock, slow down,” he laughs at, or in spite of, the predatorial glint in Sherlock’s eyes. “We have our whole lives.”

“As I am well aware, but this is our honeymoon. If we are to ever have the ultimate sex holiday, this is it.” He meets John’s eyes and licks his own lips, growling his next words. “I intend to make use of every moment.”

He crushes John’s mouth with his own in a hot and hormonally charged kiss. A soft moan swirls around Sherlock’s tongue as he licks into John’s mouth luxuriously. His teeth scrape on the tip of John’s tongue and he nips at those lips as he angles John’s head back.

John is left with his head reclining on the edge of the tub, completely boneless. His deep blue eyes open and focus on Sherlock, the irises already giving way to the black of his pupils.

“Bloody hell, Sherlock.”

With a smirk on his angular face, Sherlock pulls at John’s shoulders and surges in close.

“Here. Budge up,” he rolls off of John and drags the smaller man onto his lap, even as his quiet and teasing protests fill the room. Sherlock smiles wickedly. John may balk at being manhandled, but he doesn’t resist. He’s clearly curious as to what Sherlock may have in mind. John’s body snaps to attention when Sherlock’s fingers begin to press and squeeze his broad, warm shoulders. John tries to turn and face Sherlock, but his husband keeps a firm hold on him.

“What are you doing?” his voice is suspicious. Sherlock whispers softly into his ear.

“It’s called a massage, John.”

“Yes, I know that, but why are you so intent on giving me one?”

“Is that not what couples do?”

John can tell he’s pouting without even looking at him. He lets out a little laugh and relaxes under the pressure of those long fingers. Fingers he’d love to suck into his mouth one by one as he watches Sherlock come apart. Instead, John smiles to himself and closes his eyes.

“Some couples, yes.”

“I would like to be one of those couples.”

Without a word between them, Sherlock’s fingertips graze deftly over John’s shoulders right before gripping firmly and working the hard muscles beneath the tanned skin. Sherlock has always had a great appreciation for John’s body. Giving him regular massages had been at the top of Sherlock’s topics for conversation list for ages. He just never saw an opportunity to address the situation in a way that would garner a positive response from John. 

John is in no way ashamed or nervous about showing himself off to Sherlock, but does sometimes still feel a bit self-conscious about his shoulder. John does his best to resist the urge to hide his old war wound when this mood strikes because he knows Sherlock would never judge it one way or the other. It is merely part of John and he loves every part of John. Every. Part. Still, Sherlock tries to be sensitive to John’s feelings. In spite of how he treats others, Sherlock would never want to minimize how John feels.

Sherlock wears a small smile behind John’s golden hair as he tests the water, so to speak. He slides his large hands over John’s shoulders, fingers dancing lightly along the starburst and unmarked skin alike. To his delight, John does not go tense or recoil. He shivers instead. Sherlock moves his hands to knead John’s firm pectorals and mouths at his nape in tandem. John inhales sharply and straightens his spine, but also leans into the touch of Sherlock’s hot lips.

“My god,” he sighs happily, “I could get used to this.”

“Excellent,” the detective whispers against the shell of his ear. “Because I would like to make this a regular occurrence.”

“Hm. I’ll consider it,” John lets his head fall back a bit, a teasing smile on his face. Sherlock continues to explore the smooth skin with his deliberate hands. Palms pressing and kneading, fingers depressing firmly in just the right places. John’s head tips forward and lolls from side to side, his eyes closed.

Minutes pass. Both men revel in these newly discovered pleasures. Sherlock moves his hands back to John’s shoulders and slowly begins to travel down his back. He already knows his husband’s body well, but he wants to learn more and exactly this way. Every beautiful inch under his hands, forming a map, his map of John Watson.

Sherlock’s hands reach the small of John’s back. He ghosts the tips of his fingers over the skin on either side of John’s spine. The smaller man jumps suddenly, straightening and pulling away.

“Ticklish, honey?” he murmurs with a giggle.

“You’re on your way to finding out more than you bargained for,” John warns.

With a breathy chuckle, Sherlock glides his hands up John’s back to rest on his shoulders again. He gently pulls on John to recline on his own body, not stopping until his compact doctor is flush against his chest. John sighs, turning his head so he can see his detective.

“I look forward to it,” he tips his head to kiss John softly and then rests the side of his face against John’s. His hands creep around John’s body until the man is wrapped in Sherlock’s arms. John rests his own hands over his husband’s and they relax into one another’s bodies.

Minutes pass. John shifts a bit and turns his eyes forward, surveying their surroundings.

“Putting in this tub was genius. How did you get it in here?” he asks, but continues before Sherlock has a chance to answer. “Come to think of it, this loo is too big for the age of the house.”

“Well spotted, John,” the detective smiles proudly behind him. “The bedrooms are quite large, but not the closets or loos. I had the wall between this one and another removed to create a larger master suite, then reconstructed a sizable walk-in and a loo large enough for my bath tub.”

“Sherlock,” John says apprehensively, twisting to look at him again. “Please tell me not just for the honeymoon.”

“No, no,” he waves a hand dismissively. “Years ago. I love this bath tub.”

“And what did Mycroft have to say about your arbitrary modifications?” John inquires with another teasing smile. Sherlock looks back at him in confusion. 

“Why should he care?”

“Because you share it. ‘A Holmes family property’, you said.”

“Share? Certainly not. He has his own estate to contend with. This one was left to me.”

John stares, mouth agape. He turns in Sherlock’s arms so as to face him more straight on. Sherlock cocks a brow.

“Your parents left you this house,” John’s voice is somewhere between dumbfounded and skeptical. “It belongs to you. Just you.”

“Yes,” his husband replies perfectly casually. “I did not mean to give you any other impression. It’s been part of the larger Holmes estate of properties for over a century. The very first Sherlock Holmes built it, so my parents thought I should have it.”

John huffs out a quiet laugh and gazes at Sherlock in amused disbelief.

“Fuck me. You’re full of surprises today,” he smiles and shifts excitedly. “Are there more?”

“I don’t see how this is a surprise. I told you I own this house.”

“No. No, you said a ‘Holmes family property’,” John says, making air quotes. He can feel himself becoming grumpy after Sherlock’s haughty response and it is evident in his tone. Sherlock watches blankly, unable to fathom why any of this should annoy John. The doctor presses his lips into a thin line of just that. “I assumed it was left to you AND Mycroft, that you share it.”

“Ah,” Sherlock declares with satisfaction. “You were mistaken.”

“Apparently,” John mutters, rolling his eyes and turning away. Sherlock watches him angle away and bites his lip, believing he could have handled John’s mistake differently. He lifts an arm and slides it up against John’s, placing a hand on his shoulder. He leans his head forward so he can see most of John’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he says solemnly. John turns to look at him. “I didn’t mean to mislead you or make your understanding of the situation seem foolish.”

“I know,” John breathes out a sigh and smiles. “I’m sorry for bristling up. I guess I’m still not used to this life of privilege.” 

They smile at one another and press their lips together for a soft, but sensual kiss. They are both still smiling when they part, searching one another’s eyes. John turns forward once again, resting his back to Sherlock’s chest and sighing contentedly. His husband’s arms fold around him snugly once again, curly head relaxed against his own and tickling his ear. John leans into the touch and closes his eyes. He finds Sherlock’s hands in the water and encloses them in his own, pulling Sherlock’s arms even tighter. His thumb strokes Sherlock’s knuckles and traces an outline on the back of his hand.

“John?” the detective asks after some time has passed.

“Hmm?” is John’s sleepy reply. He opens his eyes wide and alert when Sherlock draws in a deep breath. Sherlock is nervous, but why? John waits with interest, giving his husband’s fingers a little squeeze.

“I’m sorry.” He sounds deeply apologetic and John isn’t sure quite what to think until he continues. “About what I asked you while we were dancing. I was out of line. I mean, we had a brief chat about it long ago, but... We’d been married all of five minutes. It was not the right time or place and was understandably startling. I won’t bring it up again.”

John feels Sherlock’s body tense and can tell he is consciously trying to relax, though it isn’t working. The corners of John’s mouth turn up and he looks down into the water at their hands beneath, still holding one another. He lifts Sherlock’s right hand from his stomach and matches the palm of his own left hand to it. John cradles the back of Sherlock’s hand with his own right hand, sandwiching it between both of his palms.

John begins to study the elegant features of fingers and knuckles, front and back, every inch of the gorgeous hand in his. John never thought of his own hands as small. They are in proportion to the rest of his body and, while 5′6″ is rather short for a man, he has met plenty of men who are shorter. But now, with his hands pressed against his husband’s larger one, John’s fingers are very obviously a whole inch shorter. John’s palm fits neatly into the bigger, paler one. He slides his own fingers in between each beautiful digit and squeezes them around Sherlock’s hand.

A puff of warm breath graces the back of his neck, followed by the kiss of plush lips. John’s mouth turns up further into a fond smile. He pulls his fingers from Sherlock’s and turns the man’s hand so the palm faces up. He bends forward, lifting it to his lips for a soft kiss. He kisses each fingertip and finger, as well as the narrow wrist.

“I think we need to warm the water again,” Sherlock mumbles in a deep voice. John releases Sherlock’s hand without argument so he can see to the tub’s jets. As the water begins to circulate, John turns on Sherlock’s lap until he is sitting sideways and facing him straight on.

“Do you want to have children, Sherlock?” he asks softly, gently with a kind smile on his face and brows raised lightly to mirror his tone. This time Sherlock looks dumbfounded. His eyes are wide, features the very picture of confusion and surprise.

“Uh…urm…”

John’s smile grows tenfold. This is clearly not the question the detective had anticipated.

“You like Madeleine.”

“I adore Madeleine,” he corrects and then hesitates, watching John closely. “You...like Madeleine.”

“I do,” John nods. Sherlock pauses and licks his lips. He continues hesitantly.

“I never pictured myself with a child until recently and now the idea of us…with a little…” Sherlock trails off, searching John’s eyes. His lips press together into a thin line. Before John can say a word, Sherlock barrels on, speaking quickly. “But you’re right. With your surgery shifts and the danger of The Work, the addition of a child would be ill-advised.”

“Well, we’ll just have to be more careful,” John answers thoughtfully. Sherlock’s jaw drops. It closes and opens a few times to no avail, if speaking is the goal. John chortles and pops a quick kiss onto those startled lips, which seems to pull the detective from his stupor.

“But you said the idea was unappealing.”

“Yes, I did, but that was years ago, Sherlock. I was a student and after that, I was in the army. And single,” he smiles and drapes his arms around Sherlock’s neck, looking him in the eye. “I’m settled in a career now and married to the most gorgeous consulting detective…”

“ **Only** consulting detective.”

“…in London.”

“In the world.”

“Oh, how could you possibly know that?” John deters from his point incredulously.

“I told you. I invented it,” Sherlock tells him with mischievous eyes and a corner of his mouth turned up. “Really, John, if you aren’t going to bother remembering what I say, especially on a momentous event in our relationship, I shall have to reconsider this marriage. Mmph!”

John covers his mouth with a kiss, moving his lips the way that makes Sherlock melt and go all noodly. John’s own terminology that he has not yet shared with his husband because he knows exactly what he will say. When he pulls back, the man’s eyes are blown wide. His lips part and go straight into a pout.

“ **That** is  **not** fair.”

“I know, I know. I’m so mean,” John laughs. He sobers after a moment and looks Sherlock in the eye. “My point is that things are very different now. I’m not going to spend the rest of my life a lonely soldier. I’m going to spend it with you.” he twirls soft curls with his fingers and speaks with sincerity. “I would love to raise a child with you.”

The biggest grin John has ever seen blooms on Sherlock’s face. His eyes are bright like the sun. John giggles because Sherlock Holmes must truly be the happiest man on earth at this moment and John is delighted to both witness it, and have a hand in it.

Suddenly there’s an arm around John’s waist and a hand at his nape, pulling him in close to the lanky detective. Soft, insistent lips meet his with a hint of desperation that grows as the kissing continues. John gladly parts his lips when the tip of Sherlock’s tongue tickles at them with a feather touch.

John moans into Sherlock’s mouth, moving his hands up the sides of his long torso. The skin under his fingers feels like silk and the more he touches, the more he wants. His left hand slides over to Sherlock’s taut nipple, his index finger and thumb closing around it gently. Sherlock gasps the air straight from John’s lungs. His hands scrabble at John’s back and neck, leaving light scratches behind. John pinches a little harder and licks into Sherlock’s mouth even more enthusiastically. His husband responds in kind, biting at his bottom lip and sucking it into his mouth. Both of their brains go offline.

Moments later, John pulls himself back to his senses and breaks away from Sherlock’s mouth. That single action brings the detective back to himself in a rush and he emits a whining sound of protest just before his head falls back in ecstasy at the touch of John’s hot tongue on his already stimulated nipple.

“Shit. Oh, John.”

“Mmm,” John smiles as he mouths his way to the other nipple. “I love when you curse.”

The moment John’s lithe tongue touches his previously neglected nipple, Sherlock’s thin grip on restraint snaps. He growls as he twists his body beneath John’s and pushes him against the bath forcefully, some water splashing over the side, his mouth latching to the smaller man’s throat immediately. A quiet yelp flies from John’s lips when he is shoved hard onto the tub wall. His arms quickly wrap around Sherlock, his hands roaming feverishly. He must touch every part of this man. He must have every part of him.

Meanwhile, it has become absolutely essential to Sherlock that he be inside his husband again right now. Sucking on John’s neck all the while, his right hand snakes down John’s muscular body to his bum. He brushes two fingers over the fluttering hole, still stretched from the first round of honeymoon sex. With the hot water as a handy lubricant, Sherlock eases a finger inside experimentally.

John’s whole body shudders. His back arching, he grabs onto Sherlock’s strong shoulders and holds on for dear life. Lifting his head from where it had fallen back onto the lip of the tub, he looks at Sherlock with black eyes, full of surprise and desire. Sherlock raises his own eyes to meet his husband’s. John’s lips are parted in rapt pleasure.

“Christ,” John gasps. “Fuck, Sherlock.”

“Ohhhhh. You’re still so ready for me.”

“But.”

“But?” Sherlock furrows his brow. His fingers instinctually twitch away from John’s bum. He looks at John, eyes filled with concern, and John looks back with a mischievous glint in his.

“It’s your turn,” he whispers. All traces of concern vanish with those three words and Sherlock’s lips turn up in a smile. He climbs up John and places a knee on either side of his body, straddling the doctor and grasping the edge of the tub with both hands on either side of John’s shoulders. Instead of sitting on the man’s lap, Sherlock lowers himself only enough to make his chest eye level with John. 

John knows immediately what Sherlock is doing. Wearing a rather hungry look on his face, John glides his left hand up the inside of Sherlock’s thigh and tucks it behind his balls, fingering at his hole and the crease of his bum. Sherlock bites his lip, his eyes slide closed, a quiet moan slips past his lips as he sighs. John leans toward his lover and flicks the tip of his tongue over his right nipple. Sherlock shudders with pleasure and desire. Gooseflesh appears on every part of his body that is out of the hot bath water and his nipples harden.

John glances up at his face, tense with want and pleasure, with a grin and licks the same nipple. Sherlock moans again as John’s playful tongue dances while his unoccupied right hand rises from the water and drips up his body to touch the other nipple. All the while, John’s left hand remains where it is with easy access, granted by his detective. He is very careful, unsure whether or not the moisture of the water will be enough to lubricate, but quickly finds that it is. In a few short minutes, his husband is quivering in his lap and his arms, beneath his hands.

“God,” Sherlock gasps, whispers reverently. He lets go of the tub and grasps John’s shoulders, diggin in with his nails. He starts rocking his body and splashing the swirling water, bobbing up and down on John’s fingers. “God, now, yes. I’m ready, John, I’m ready.”

John shushes and gently steadies the man coming apart in his lap, and slides his fingers from his body. In one swift, but careful movement, he pulls Sherlock’s body tightly to his own and rolls them both until Sherlock is firmly seated on the underwater bench and John is in between the detective’s thighs, his own knees resting on the floor of the bath. He smiles at his husband, looking very satisfied with himself and winks. Then his head disappears beneath the water. 

Sherlock stares at the place where John had just been, blinking in confusion. Before another second passes, his head is thrown back in surprised ecstacy and he is crying out curses as John’s tongue licks into his body.

“God John yes yes fucking damn fuck fuck fuck!”

Though it doesn’t last long, only as long as John can hold his breath, Sherlock is completely undone when his husband emerges from the water. He grabs onto his shoulders instantly, scrabbling for purchase. He has pushed his own upper back against the side of the bath so hard that an angry red line mars his skin all across its width, but he pays it no mind. All he can feel is the desire and pleasure that consumes him. He looks into John’s deep blue eyes, irises thinned dramatically by pupils, and pants. John kisses him between breaths.

“God, I love it when you curse,” he kisses him again, sounding completely undone himself. “It makes me want to...want to..”

“John,” Sherlock interrupts and they pin one another with searing gazes, “I want you inside me. Now. Take me, John, please, please.”

“God, yes,” John whispers. “Anything you want, babe.” 

He grasps under Sherlock’s knees with both hands and swiftly pulls him off the bench, their bodies meeting. Sherlock watches John’s eyes as the doctor guides him onto his prick and some small piece of his mind marvels at his luck, at his life. Sherlock’s mouth drops open as he slides down smoothly and John mirrors the look as he buries himself deep inside his husband. John shudders at the tight feeling and so much hot around him, and can barely stay focused, stars already bursting through his vision.  _ God. More. More! _

John pulls Sherlock to the side and forces him up against a part of the bath wall that has no bench to get in the way. The detective adds stability to the position, wrapping his long legs around John’s waist. Once they are set, John thrusts into him with such power that they both cry out loudly. He begins snapping his hips roughly, but at a fairly slow pace that takes every ounce of self-control to maintain. It’s so good, so perfect, so  _ GOD!  _ he doesn’t want it to end too quickly. Both their mouths are open and panting. They stare intensely at one another, lost together in this moment.

Hands holding tightly to John’s neck and shoulder hard enough to leave bruises behind, Sherlock meets his husband’s every thrust. He tips his chin down ever so slightly, his lips moving as if to form words. By god, if Sherlock utters a word in that goddamn gorgeous voice, John will  **not** be able to stop himself from taking, or coming.

“John,” the word is quiet and breathless and in that beautiful voice. That perfect, beautiful voice. “God, John. I love you. I love you.”

John moans loudly and grasps frantically for restraint, desperate not to lose it. Against all odds, John reigns it in and somehow he is suddenly speaking as well. He hears his own voice as it would sound some distance away and he sounds so calm, so full of love and adoration.

“I love you, Sherlock. More,” he pants, “more every day.”

And that’s it. Sherlock’s mind scrambles and then clears suddenly. Every door in his mind palace slams shut, except one. John is there with a warm smile, arms outstretched, wearing one of Sherlock’s white button-downs and a pair of red pants. Sherlock rushes to him with a kiss on his lips.

Sherlock grabs John’s hips with lightning quick hands and pulls him hard with every thrust as John shoves him against the bathtub wall harshly with every part of his body, water splashing over the edge, hips at a punishing pace he cannot maintain for long, but neither of them need it to last much longer. Sherlock is almost screaming in pleasure and clutching at his husband desperately, his nails biting hard into John’s skin.

John is so close. Sherlock is too, for that matter, the friction of their bodies rubbing his cock. Sherlock’s mind is still blank, save one thing. John. The very man taking him apart, the man he had always wanted to touch and never thought he could, the man before his very eyes. John is shouting his name now and Sherlock becomes suddenly aware of his own voice chanting ‘John’ too. Has he been saying that all along?

John suddenly cries out loudly, coming hard and spectacularly into Sherlock, which sends him straight over the edge. He spurts between their bellies. The hot, white liquid shoots from beneath the water and past their faces with the force of his pleasure, one stream hitting his own chin. John’s face is lost somewhere in bliss, intensity, rapture, euphoria. The sight of his husband in this state sends Sherlock spiraling into oblivion, every part of his body and mind tingling with feeling, with pleasure. It’s all too much and not at all enough.

As his senses slowly begin to return, Sherlock finds that they are both kneeling on the tub floor and he is kissing every surface of John’s face gently, warmly, worshiping his beautiful countenance. And he is speaking, whispering words like a prayer to his husband.

“I love you. I love you, John. My one, my love, my husband, my life.”

He hears John shushing him breathlessly and feels those strong hands on his own cheeks, guiding his lips to John’s where they meet in a tender kiss. Eyes closed, their noses together, their breaths evening out, John whispers.

“I love you, Sherlock, so much. God, my luck. I can’t believe it. I’m yours. Forever.”

They remain in this embrace for some time. Long after they both soften and even after Sherlock realizes the faucet was running the whole time. Fortunately, he had opened the drain when he turned it on so as to replace some of the tepid water with warm. Rather a waste, but the bath didn’t overfill and flood the room either. After the water has long since cooled, John kisses Sherlock and then smiles against his lips.

“Water’s cold.”

“Mm,” Sherlock hums his agreement and looks into his doctor’s eyes. “Hypothermia could set in.”

“It could.”

“What do you suggest, Doctor?”

“Warm ourselves up,” he pulls away just enough to meet Sherlock’s eyes. “To bed. Immediately.”

They clean up and dry off quickly and are in the soft, king-sized bed within minutes, the sheets and duvet wrapped around their bodies. Their heads are on the fluffy pillows as they lie on their sides, facing one another. John’s arm is draped around Sherlock’s waist, the man’s long fingers stroking through John’s hair. A mischievous smile spreads across his face to go with the gleam in his silver eyes.

“I assume another shag will have to wait until morning?”

“Christ, Sherlock!” John barks a laugh. “We’ve just done it twice in as many hours. This isn’t a marathon.“

“If this is the attitude you’re going to take,” the detective replies in mock skepticism, “I may have to rethink this marriage.”

John laughs heartily and Sherlock cocks a brow.

“I don’t believe you are taking me seriously.”

“As if I’m meant to,” John declares through his laughter. “ **I** may have to rethink this marriage. You’re going to be the death of me.”

Unable to maintain the pretense of displeasure any longer, Sherlock grins and kisses the gorgeous man sharing his bed.

“Can I help it if my husband is irresistible? I think not.”

John just giggles, leans in, and kisses Sherlock’s nose. He smiles at the detective sincerely with a look of marvel on his face.

“I will cherish every moment of our life together, Sherlock. Mike was right. I’ve been looking for you my whole life. I’m so glad I found you,” he traces his fingers up Sherlock’s side and over his chest to rest his palm over his husband’s heart. “When you talk about retiring someday, this is where you want to be, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“Thought so,” John pecks his lips and snuggles up to his pillow, closing his eyes. “G’night, babe. … Husband.”

Sherlock lies still and watches. John looks so peaceful, his features almost delicate. His attentive eyes take in every inch of John’s face from cheeks and chin to eyebrows and forehead. This man, unassuming as he may be, is the most amazing man Sherlock has ever met and is now a permanent fixture in Sherlock’s life. A life he never thought possible.

“Sherlock.” The detective starts, so caught up in his thoughts and observations that he has neglected to remember that John is not actually asleep yet. John does not move or open his eyes, but very definitely mumbles. “Go to sleep.”

“I don’t intend upon starting right away,” Sherlock replies in a serious tone.

“Okay.”

“I thought we would wait a while. Have some time for just the two of us first.”

John opens his eyes when Sherlock touches his cheek and stares for a moment.

“Sherlock, what are you talking about?”

“The child. I thought we would wait so we have plenty of time for sex holidays and sex anywhere we please within the flat. Entire days of lounging about naked and we can be as loud as we like now. Mycroft is going to soundproof the building while we’re on honeymoon.”

“He is? Christ, I thought he was joking.”

“Mycroft does not joke.”

“No, you’re right. He certainly doesn’t,” John chuckles and closes his eyes again. “Well, we don’t have to worry about offending poor Mrs. Hudson anymore.”

“You don’t mind, do you?”

John opens his deep blues again to see a timid-looking detective in the bed next to him. He crinkles his brow and studies him in tired confusion.

“Soundproofing the flat?”

“No,” Sherlock rolls his eyes, “waiting to have a child.”

John laughs and smiles genuinely, blinking once slowly. His hand rests on Sherlock’s cheek and the elegant man leans into the touch.

“I don’t mind at all. It’s perfect. I’d like some time to just be Doctor Holmes Watson before our duet becomes a trio.”

“Sherlock Watson Holmes,” he says quietly, smiling wide. “Sounds rather nice, don’t you think? The way it rolls off the tongue.”

“I do,” John is laughing again and soon waggling his once furrowed brow. “There are a few things of yours I don’t mind rolling with my tongue.”

Sherlock cocks a brow in response and they both descend into giggles, smiling at each other like a pair of idiots. After a few minutes of companionable silence, John gives a shallow nod and closes his eyes again. He tucks a hand under his cheek and latches the other on the corner of his pillow, pulling it close and snuffling into it. The man is clearly very tired. And adorable.

Sherlock, on the other hand, is so full of energy he can’t even imagine sleeping. It’s as though he has a case, or has just solved an exceedingly difficult one. He would get up and do something once John has dozed off, but he doesn’t want to be somewhere John is not, especially not tonight. He watches his husband fondly and soon finds his free hand slowly sweeping beneath the covers and over John’s body. Though he cannot actually see what he is doing, his fingers tell him every detail. Every dip and crest, and knot of bone or muscle, everything as he maps out John’s body. It is certainly not the first time Sherlock has done this to John, but it is the first time with his husband John.

As his fingers ghost along John’s waist and forward onto his belly, Sherlock watches his face. Relaxed in sleep, snuggling into his pillow, and isn’t that the most fucking adorable thing Sherlock has ever seen? He giggles to himself and sort of combs through the soft pubic hair above John’s penis. Amazing, really. Pubic hair is usually so coarse.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?”

The detective jerks away from his mate and snatches his hand from his warm body. John doesn’t move a muscle and Sherlock stares, incredulous. Since when has one, John Holmes Watson ever been able to trick him into thinking he is asleep? Marriage must already be softening his senses and impairing his powers of observation. He resolves to keep himself from such distractions at all times…after the honeymoon is over.

“Sherlock,” John’s eyes are open now and Sherlock looks back at him with shining eyes, like a child in a candy shop, but one who feels the slightest bit guilty.

“I was mapping your body now that you are my husband.”

“You think, perhaps, something has changed?” he asks, brow raised.

“No, but you’re my husband now. What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t map out every inch of your body?”

“A tired one,” John takes a good look at Sherlock. His head is no longer on the pillow at all, in favor of propping himself up on one arm. His silver eyes are sparkling with excitement and he wears a small smile on his full lips. John sighs and rubs the sleep from one of his own eyes. “You aren’t tired at all, are you?”

“Not a bit,” Sherlock answers decisively, shaking his head. John closes his eyes for a few seconds and then looks up at Sherlock again, a smile in those weary, deep blue eyes.

“I might’ve known you’d be energized by sex and not exhausted.”

“You have always known that,” the detective frowns. “Besides, it depends on the situation. Sometimes I am exhausted. Oh! Are you afraid our new status as husbands has resulted in my being full of energy post-coitus more often than not?”

John can’t help the laugh that bursts out of his mouth. Sherlock is so enthusiastic and it is magnificent. Adorable. John shakes his head as he sits up, the covers falling from his torso and pooling at his waist. Sherlock’s gaze lingers on John’s naked chest and strong shoulders.

“D’you wanna play Cluedo for a while? Sherlock?”

“Yes!” he says hastily, snapping out of his reverie. “Yes, I would love that!”

He jumps out of bed and hurries out of the room. John watches after him, still shaking his head and laughing quietly. When Sherlock rushes back in with the game and plops it unceremoniously on the duvet, leaping onto the bed after it, John chuckles in wonder at the man before him.

They have made it through so much. The cases, the pool, kidnappings, PTSD, John’s fake death, and here they are. Their future is bright and exciting, and they will spend every minute together. Holmes Watson, Watson Holmes. Husbands.

“Sherlock.”

It is the quiet hush in John’s voice that gives Sherlock pause. The seriousness in John’s eyes when Sherlock looks up from the game board that worries him.

“Yes, John?”

“We’ll always be together like this, yeah? Two pieces of the same heart joined at last.”

A smile spreads across Sherlock’s lips. He cups John’s face in his hands and leans down to kiss him. When their lips meet, it’s like a thousand lights turning on, a thousand universes spiraling into a golden age, one of beaches and beaches golden with unending sand.

When they separate, Sherlock lingers close to John’s lips, unwilling to give up John’s sweet taste so quickly. Licking his lips as soon as that delicious mouth escapes his own, he answers John’s grin with a matching one and speaks in a deep, silky voice.

“Yes, John. Always. I am nothing, if not persistent.”

F I N

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is! Idk how many of you noticed the hot tub sex tag for this part. I promised, I delivered. This was one of my favorite steamy scenes to edit. I kept thinking "The water should splash out here!", but only added it a couple of times. Wouldn't want to overdo it. I also LOVE reading other works where John and Sherlock are getting close, shall we say, and Sherlock mutters a curse or string of curses. He's usually more reserved in that department (unless he's angry with Mycroft, of course "Fuck off!" I threw in my fair share of those throughout the story as well. Hee hee) and I love seeing him just let loose, hence his string of curses. Makes me giggle every time. AND, I am NOT going to apologize for the punchline at the end. Call it part of my snarky Deadpool "I do what I want" side. After all, Deadpool wears Jane Of Cakes pajamas at night. Ha!
> 
> NOW..... (I look at you with sly eyes and a raised brow). Yes, I can raise one brow and do it quite often. It illustrates a range of emotions for me, but now it is more of a "Ha. Oh, yeah. You know what I'm thinking and I got you again. I'm going to be commissioning Celine Dion to sing the theme song and then trying to get her to take it down from an 11 to 5, 6 tops. Mwahahahahaha! I AM SO EVIL!"
> 
> But I digress.
> 
> Anyone know what I'm talking about? Anyone with this question on the tip of your tongue? ... Jane. Jane. Oh, Jane, you snarky bitch, you. You're going to do a sequel, aren't you?
> 
> You bet your sweet bippy, I am! (Bonus points and inclusion of a scene request to the first one to tell me where that quote comes from. Sorry, no hints!) You may have all noticed that I left a lot of things unanswered. Some essential questions. What happened to Moran and will he exact revenge? If so, on whom? Will Greg find love? Is Mary really dead? Was her baby really Greg's? Just who the fuck is Templeton Morris(?!) and how will he come into play? Is he our dynamic duo's new worst enemy? And many, many more....
> 
> Two things on this subject:  
> #1. I have ideas and I am very excited about this project.  
> #2. I can safely say that I will start posting it sometime in 2019.  
> Damn it. So many more things I could say have sprung to mind, but I did say only two things. 
> 
> One last big THANK YOU to all of you. Your love and support has kept me going and totally means the world to me. Like I said before, I love all of you in this great AO3 family. Those of you who have been with me all along, those who have joined in on a later part or stopped reading and jumped back in again, or whatever - thank you and I love you all. To all of you who left kudos or a comment, to all who have been in regular conversation with me - you all are the best. Your encouragement and friendship has been a godsend and I will always treasure it. I look forward to seeing as many of you again as possible as I read the works of others and post more of my own. 
> 
> Much love to you all.  
> Jane


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